


His Darkest Devotion

by Lomonaaeren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Drama, F/M, Gore, Heavy Angst, M/M, Minister for Magic Tom Riddle, Minor Character Death, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Politics, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Spy Harry Potter, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2020-10-24 10:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 195,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20704793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: Harry Potter has been hiding in plain sight all his life, since he carries the soul-mark of Minister Tom Riddle on his arm—and a fulfilled soul-bond will double both partners’ power. His parents and godfather are fugitives, members of the Order of the Phoenix, and Harry is a junior Ministry official feeding the Order what information he can. No one, least of all him, expects Harry to come to the sudden notice of Minister Riddle, or be drawn into a dangerous game of deception.





	1. Phoenixes

**Author's Note:**

> This is a long fic and an extreme AU, as you can see from the summary. The different facets of the AU will be revealed slowly, so roll with the differences at first; in time, all should be revealed.

****Harry glanced up as someone called his name. Auror Jalena Whipwood was tapping her wand on her hip as she glared at him from the other side of the common office where the junior employees of the Department of Magical Games and Sports had their desks. Harry stood up at once and made his way across the room to her, bowing his head a little when he got close.

“Auror Whipwood. What can I do for you?”

“Time for the monthly interrogation, Potter,” Whipwood said, and spun on her heel to walk down the corridor. She fit her name as far as her leanness and sharp movements went, although her honey-blonde hair that she wore long to her back didn’t. She had supposedly sworn to cut it when she met someone who could defeat her in a duel. Harry stared at her back and dreamed about using a Severing Charm right now.

But in the end, he managed to subdue his impulse, and a good thing, too, because when Whipwood led him into the small room with the round table usually used for interrogations, Harry found not just Head Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, a calm man who never made him feel intimidated, but Minister Tom Riddle. Harry’s heart constricted in his throat.

The name sprawled along his wrist in magically-inked letters seemed to burn.

Harry reminded himself, as he hadn’t had to do in a while, about the Muggle tattoo of a phoenix rising from broken shackles that covered the words, and which he’d had done long enough ago that most people thought that image was his soul-mark. Harry nodded politely to both men, making the bow of his head deeper to the Minister. “Head Auror Shacklebolt. Minister. Will it be under Veritaserum this time?”

“Yes, of course,” Minister Riddle said, the smile on his face pleasant if you didn’t look at it too closely. “Concerned, Mr. Potter?”

“I always am, sir,” Harry said, and made his voice anxious as he sat down across from them and took out his wand to put it on the table. “I really want to succeed in this job.”

Minister Riddle snorted, his gaze drifting away from Harry, and Harry relaxed a little. He had permitted himself to excel at Quidditch in Hogwarts, but nothing else, because he knew Riddle thought Quidditch only a few steps above a brawl. It meant he had no reason to find Harry interesting. The position in the Department of Magical Games and Sports was a ruse for the same reason.

Harry did wish he could have taken a different job, but only so that he could have fed more useful information to his parents and godfather. Quidditch schedules and gossip about which Gobstone teams were in debt had limited currency.

Harry let himself study Riddle from sidelong glances as Shacklebolt read him the long, long list of reasons they would be involving Veritaserum in this interrogation and the rules under which it would be used—things Harry knew so well he could mouth along, but which had to be read every time again, because of Ministry rules.

No one would deny that Riddle was a handsome man, taller than most wizards, with dark hair silvered at the temples that he wore short and sharply cut at all times. His eyes, dark blue with only a hint of red, could soften or blaze, and he seemed to do the right thing at the right time, always. The phoenix of onyx and diamond that hung on a slender silver chain over his heart, the two jewels making its feathers mixed black and white, might have been an unusual touch, but everyone knew the story.

Riddle had once borne the soul-mark of the rising black-and-white phoenix on his chest. Then two students who had attacked him at Hogwarts when he was thirteen years old had burned it off. Riddle had had the jeweled phoenix he wore crafted several years afterwards, relying on Pensieve memories of the original mark, and wore it always on a chain exactly the right length to make the phoenix dangle where his mark would have been.

The two students who had burned him had disappeared on the anniversary of the attack a year later. Then the single sibling they’d each had at Hogwarts had disappeared on the next anniversary. Their parents on the third. And so on, until all of their families and friends and allies were dead.

Headmaster Dumbledore suspected what Riddle had done to them, but he could never prove enough to arrest Riddle.

And Riddle walked around with that phoenix in plain sight and no worry over what anyone would say to him.

Harry turned away when he saw the red-tinged eyes coming back to him. It was expected that the lower-level functionaries of the Ministry would gape at the Minister, but there was only so much servility he could stomach, even for the sake of the deception.

“Three drops on the tongue, Mr. Potter.”

Harry opened his mouth. As soon as the three drops began to dissolve on his tongue, he squeezed his fingers into the palm of his left hand.

That triggered one of the spells he had practiced with Professor Dumbledore until he could cast it windlessly, wordlessly, and without anyone else noticing. His skin might have given a slight spark. Not enough to notice.

Riddle’s eyes did narrow a little, but he said nothing. Harry let his lips part slightly and his eyes glaze, the way that they would if he was completely under Veritaserum.

“Are you in contact with any of the malcontents known as the Order of the Phoenix?” Shacklebolt asked, after a few testing questions that proved what Harry’s middle name and birthday were.

“No,” Harry said. The resistance spell danced under his skin and around his tongue, nullifying the potion before it could force him to speak the truth. Most attempts to resist Veritaserum didn’t work because they tried to prevent the potion from affecting the brain. But giving back control of one’s mouth was simpler and more likely to work.

Of course, that should have made Harry’s brain blurred and shadowy, and his answers still lies. But Harry had never reacted to attempts to control him exactly like anyone else.

“What do you think of your godfather and parents?” Shacklebolt was scribbling down the answers as busily as he usually did.

“They’re fools,” Harry said. He stared straight ahead and ignored the impulse to turn his head just a little to watch Riddle as he leaned forwards. “They rebelled for no good reason and listened to a man who should have advised them better if he was going to advise them.”

“A rather unusual opinion for a man who was supposedly a devoted son and godson,” Riddle said, his voice soft.

Harry continued staring straight ahead and said nothing. Riddle wouldn’t catch him that easily. It wasn’t a question, so someone actually drugged with Veritaserum wouldn’t have responded.

“When and why did you change your mind from being a devoted son and godson?” Riddle asked then.

“Minister, we’ve found that we get the best results when—”

“When my godfather was exiled,” Harry said, emotionlessly, in the way that he and Dumbledore had practiced for hour after hour. “I thought they were putting me first. It turned out they were putting their politics first.”

“Ah. What is your greatest ambition, Mr. Potter?”

“To be a professional Quidditch player.”

Riddle made a very soft sound that _might _have been a scoff if you were listening closely enough. Harry was. “And you harbor no ambition to go into politics? Why not?”

“No. It made my godfather and my parents abandon me. I needed them and they weren’t there.”

Far worse than learning the resistance spell itself had been Harry’s learning to speak those deceptions in an emotionless voice. He didn’t _want _to. He hated the sensation of lying about his love for Sirius and Mum and Dad.

But it was necessary. They would suffer worse than exile if Riddle caught them. If he knew that Harry sometimes contacted them. For the well-being of those he loved, Harry would face dragonfire.

And if part of him grimly rejoiced in keeping the soulmate from Riddle that he would have given the world to get, that did nothing bad to his Veritaserum resistance.

“An interesting perspective,” said Riddle, gazing into his eyes as if searching for something. Harry suspected it was a reflection of the ambition that he bore. Headmaster Dumbledore had said that Riddle was incapable of understanding people different than he was. “So. Tell me, Mr. Potter. What _are _your political beliefs?”

“Muggleborns should be able to attend Hogwarts and work in the Ministry.”

Riddle paused for a long moment and then murmured, “And beyond that?”

“I think half-bloods should be treated better, too.”

Riddle leaned back in his chair and shook his head at Shacklebolt. “Head Auror, does this young man have _any _other beliefs?”

“Not really,” Shacklebolt said with a slight shrug, as he leaned over to retrieve the Veritaserum antidote. “I don’t see that he needs to, Minister. When we’re questioning young wizards who have suspect family connections, it’s probably better if they don’t have strong convictions.”

The antidote always made Harry blink and gasp, because the combination of the cold sensation on his tongue along with the resistance spell sparking and dancing beneath his skin was _weird. _He released the spell and rubbed his jaw, shivering. He avoided Riddle’s gaze, not because he wanted to but because someone who had been asked questions that intense would.

“Tell me, Mr. Potter, without the potion this time. Why didn’t you flee to join your parents and godfather?”

“Because I don’t even know where they are,” Harry whispered, and worked dejection into his voice. He ignored Shacklebolt’s hiss. Apparently Riddle shouldn’t be questioning him without the Veritaserum, and Harry shouldn’t be answering without it. But Harry didn’t really care about that part. “They chose their politics over me.”

“But you could have gone to them when you completed your Hogwarts education.”

“What, sir? Just run into the wilderness and hoped to find them?” Harry looked up and blinked at Riddle, doing his best imitation of “defiant young man who doesn’t really know how to be defiant.” “I don’t—that’s not the kind of life I want for myself.”

“So you’re not a freedom fighter?” Riddle looked half-amused, half-bored. This really couldn’t be going better.

“No, sir. I like Quidditch. I believe certain things, but if the Ministry doesn’t want to let Muggleborns and half-bloods have a fair chance, there’s not much I can do.” Harry stared at his hands this time. “Blood politics always bewildered me…”

“Along with a great many other things, I imagine.” Riddle’s boredom had won. He stood up and waved a hand at Auror Shacklebolt. “Keep up the good work, Head Auror. I have other business to attend to this morning.” He strode through the door. Listening, Harry imagined he could hear the jeweled phoenix bouncing off the buttons in Riddle’s robe.

Shacklebolt shook his head a little. “I don’t know why he questioned you, lad. You have a clean record, and the Veritaserum never reveals anything suspect.”

Harry let out a bitter, brave little sigh. “I know why, sir. It’s always hard to believe that I don’t want to follow my parents. They’re so notorious.”

“I know.” Shacklebolt leaned forwards and searched his face, but he wasn’t a Legilimens and Harry met his gaze fearlessly. “You know that if someone _does _suggest you run and join their side, you could come and talk to me, don’t you?”

Harry looked into Shacklebolt’s earnest eyes and nodded. As far as he knew, the man wasn’t as bad as Riddle. He had never shown any sign of believing in blood purity in all the years that Dumbledore’s allies had observed him. On the other hand, he followed along because he thought that Riddle was _good _for the Ministry, which only went to show how blind some people could be.

“Good lad.” Shacklebolt squeezed his shoulder for a minute. “You were excellent at Quidditch at Hogwarts, I’ve heard. You can parlay that into an excellent career in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, as well.”

Harry grinned and bobbed his head, as empty-eyed a look as Shacklebolt would expect from him. Then he ducked out of the conference room. He waited until he was back in his little shared office to run his fingers over the mark on his right wrist.

_Tom Marvolo Riddle, _it might say along his wristbone, but the black letters faded now into the open, shattered shackles that his tattooed phoenix was erupting from. It would be hard for Riddle to accidentally touch the words even if he grasped Harry’s hand.

And he had “tested” Harry when he first came to work at the Ministry, the way he did everyone who had a phoenix image somewhere on their skin. Images were harder to match as soul-marks than words, and Riddle wouldn’t let the chance pass by.

But of course, touching the phoenix had done nothing, when it was simply Muggle ink. Riddle had let him go at once and turned to walk back into the Ministry.

Harry sat down at his desk and picked up his quill again.

There were members of the Order who had thought he was insane to get a phoenix tattoo at all, when it was so similar to what Riddle bore. But Harry had done it for himself, not Riddle. He wanted to carry the reminder, each and every day, of what it would mean if he gave into his own longing for his soulmate and accepted that—monster.

*

Lily looked carefully around the clearing in the Forest of Dean. It seemed deserted, but then, most places in the woods looked like that until you started casting the necessary protection spells.

“It _is _deserted, Lily-Bell,” James breathed from next to her, tugging the Invisibility Cloak off over his head. Long years of practice kept Lily from flinching about it, but she did give him a single expressive look. James ignored her. “I’m sure that it’s safe for you to send him the Apparition coordinates.”

Lily nodded and breathed a single, careful breath. It was already dusk, and they would have to hurry if they wanted to send Harry usable coordinates. She brandished her wand, and a second later her silver doe leaped through the evening, seeking out her son.

They had always been careful never to send their recognizable Patronuses whenever Harry might have someone with him, and yet there was always the first time for slipping up. Lily readied her wand, while James stood next to her in tense silence.

Ten minutes later, Harry Apparated in.

Lily felt tears slipping down her face as she extended her hands. Harry caught them, and then he hugged her and she was kissing him desperately on the nose and the cheeks. Harry laughed. Lily felt a trace of tears on his cheeks, as well.

“You’re taller,” she muttered into his shoulder, where she hid her face for a moment.

“Am not,” came Harry’s automatic reply, and then James took him from her arms, and Lily wiped away the last of her tears and smiled. James hugged Harry for a much shorter time. _Stupid masculine pride, _Lily thought idly as she watched James pounding Harry’s back with one hand for a moment.

“Well, you look taller,” Lily said, before James could demand Harry’s report. “How _are _you, Harry?”

Harry gave her a smile with a shadow in it, and Lily softened and reached up to trace her hand over his brow. There was an old, ancient scar there, from the time that Harry had fallen off his broom when he was four years old and split his head open on the oak in front of their cottage door. Some ignorant people had thought the lightning-bolt-shaped scar was his soul-mark, at least until Harry had got the Muggle tattoo.

Lily reached back almost without thinking, and touched the green stag in the center of her back. She could feel James’s smug look without turning. She rolled her eyes back without turning, knowing he would feel that.

Knowing he was probably touching the pale lily on his left forearm, too.

“I had my monthly interrogation today,” Harry began, and Lily steeled herself to listen. She hated hearing about what they put her baby boy through, the Ministry. Yet he was twenty-four now, not a baby anymore, and Lily herself had seen forty-five years, and they had chosen to fight this war.

James listened to what Harry said with an increasingly grim look. “Do you think there’s any way Riddle could suspect what you are?” he asked.

Lily stepped forwards and hugged Harry again, ignoring the way he stiffened and muttered, “Mum, geroff.” They never said that Harry was Riddle’s soulmate aloud, except when discussing it with Dumbledore. Not even Sirius knew. There was too much chance that someone could betray them, or would assume Harry was evil and had to be killed for someone he’d had no control over.

As far as Sirius and Arthur and Molly and the rest knew, “what you are” just referred to Harry being their spy in the Ministry. Which was dangerous enough, honestly.

“No,” Harry said. “I think he just likes to question everyone from time to time, and try to ‘understand’ them.” The inverted commas he put around the verb could have pierced the sky, Lily thought. “It’s ridiculous. He doesn’t think that anyone without exactly his kind of ambition is worth anything. He asked me about my politics and seemed disbelieving that I didn’t have any.”

“_None_?” James asked sharply.

“I pretended that the Veritaserum forced me to admit that I think Muggleborns and half-bloods should be treated equally. That’s all. I couldn’t hide that anyway, Dad, there are too many people at the Ministry who knew me in Hogwarts.”

“True enough, “James said, calming down. “But I assume that he wanted to find out if you were ready to follow us.”

“Yeah, that was what he wanted.”

Harry stared off into the distance for a moment. Lily couldn’t see well, given the muted _Lumos _Charm on James’s wand alone and the soft purple light coming from above, but she could make out the edges of the grim set to her jaw.

It made Lily want to hug him again, but she held back. Two hugs were about as much as Harry would permit at any one meeting—well, three, but the last one had to be saved for when he was leaving. God, it hurt, knowing her son could never be with his soulmate.

But how _could _he be with a man who would despise him at best, knowing he was the son of a blood traitor and a supposedly inferior Muggleborn, and who would try to woo him and seduce him at worst? Soulmates gained fourfold power when they were together and truly in love—but it _did _have to be true love, not one-sided. If Riddle managed to seduce Harry and win his heart, he would only be doubly powerful, not fourfold. That was because Riddle didn’t have a heart to lose, Lily thought.

But doubly would be bad enough for the Order’s cause. And Harry had understood, even when he was very young and Lily had explained to him who his soulmate was, that some things were more important than an individual’s happiness. He was so brave, her son. So much a Gryffindor.

“If you ever think that it’s becoming too much,” James said seriously, reaching up to lay a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “the pressure and the lying, let us know. You’d be welcome here, you know that.”

Harry smiled at them, and the grimness Lily had become half-used to seeing dissolved in instants. “I know, but I’ve been useful where I am, haven’t I? I’ve been able to pass on word of things like that raid that almost caught Sirius?”

“Yes, and I’m damn grateful for it,” said a voice from the side. Sirius shook off the last remnants of the black dog he’d been for a minute and grinned at Harry. “Hello, kiddo.”

“Hi, Sirius,” Harry said, and did permit another hug after all.

“But I mean it,” James insisted, catching Lily’s eye for a second. She nodded. In this case, they spoke as one. “If you want to be here, you’re here. Your life is more important than that bloody information. Your happiness.”

Harry’s mouth twisted, a little wistfully. “Ron and Hermione did get together, didn’t they?”

“Yes, last week,” Lily muttered, shaking her head. “I’ve never known someone who was so stubborn about being with their soulmate.”

“Did you mean Ron or Hermione?” Harry teased. Like Lily, he knew it was both of them. They’d both come close to being arrested for a too-obvious attempt to break into the Department of Mysteries and had to run, and Hermione had wanted to be “more than a pure-blood’s wife” and Ron had still been denying he liked her. At least that was over now.

“See, that’s another thing,” James interjected, looking back and forth between Lily and Harry. “If you came here, you could be with your friends. I know you’ve missed them.”

“I do miss them, but...” Harry hesitated. Sirius reached forwards and cuffed the back of his head, the way he used to do when Harry was slow to answer at lessons before Hogwarts, but his eyes were worried. Lily knew the feeling. “I just don’t want to spend much time around people united with their soulmates right now.”

“Ah, kiddo,” Sirius said in a low voice, and embraced him. Harry hugged him back, but he was already withdrawing. Lily could see it. The life he led away from them was lonely and dangerous, but he seemed almost to prefer it.

People among the Order would either look at him in pity, the ones who thought his soulmate was dead, or constantly ask him why he wasn’t searching for her. Supposedly by Harry’s age it had become a pull that was impossible to ignore.

“Going so soon?” Sirius asked, but Harry nodded and kissed Lily on the cheek, hugging her the regulation one more time before he patted Sirius on the shoulder and punched his father. Then he turned and Apparated away.

Sirius sighed. “Merlin, I would do anything if I could find that kid’s soulmate for him.”

“I know,” James said, and he exchanged a sad smile with Lily that had all the meaning Padfoot would never know. He draped an arm over her shoulder as they walked back towards the Apparition point that would take them into the Order’s guarded camp.

Lily closed her eyes tightly. She had her soulmate, the fourfold bond of love and trust and magic and united thoughts.

But it pained her so much that her son was never to know the same.

*

“But I heard that Professor McGonagall’s classes are _really _hard.”

Peter smiled and pushed the scroll on the desk back across it, towards young Miss Lavelock. “I think they are both hard and rewarding. In any case, you passed your OWL with an O, Miss Lavelock. You belong in NEWT Transfiguration.”

“I wish I could just stay in the fifth-year class,” Lavelock whispered desperately. She had white hair that was characteristic of her family, and it fell over her face as she looked down and chewed on her lip.

“You can still come to me for help,” Peter promised. “Remember that I know the Animagus transformation, too, and I have all the necessary education.”

“Then why aren’t _you _teaching NEWT Transfiguration?”

Long years of practice kept Peter from rolling his eyes, even though he felt like it. Students were all the same in the way they acted when they thought they’d perceived some shortcoming on a teacher’s part and wanted to call them out. “Because I enjoy the younger years,” he said easily. “And because we have time and room and money for multiple Transfiguration professors, now, thanks to Minister Riddle. Professor McGonagall is the senior one and got to choose what she wanted.”

“Yeah, well...” Lavelock’s voice trailed off into silence. Then she sighed. “I can still come and ask you for help, Professor Pettigrew?”

“Of course. But you should talk to Professor McGonagall as well. I promise you that she’s not as intimidating as she appears.”

“You were in Gryffindor House, weren’t you, sir?”

“Yes. And I can also promise that she’s not as biased against Slytherins as your Housemates might have told you.”

“Alllll right,” Lavelock said, stretching the sound out to indicate that she was in the thrall of teenage hopelessness, and trailed out the door. Peter waited until he was sure that the door had shut behind her before he chuckled.

Every now and then he got someone who had become so comfortable and complacent in the forth- and fifth-year courses that they decided Professor McGonagall must be a tyrant simply because she wasn’t him. But in general, Peter and Minerva cooperated well, and now that she had multiple colleagues with expertise in Transfiguration, she had more time for her Deputy Headmistress duties as well as time to concentrate on individual students.

Although even when she was by herself, she hadn’t done badly, Peter thought idly as he stood up and made sure that the pincushions for the next morning’s class were stored neatly in the bins on his shelves. She’d turned three of them into Animagi, after all.

Peter winced at the thought. He hadn’t seen Sirius and James in a long time. It had nothing to do with Remus, although that terrible night in their fifth year when Sirius had come up with his _great_ idea to prank Severus Snape had stood between them for months. No, in the end what they couldn’t stomach was Peter’s refusal to join the Order of the Phoenix.

Or, maybe even more than that, his decision to register as an Animagus and get a proper education in Transfiguration, already with an eye to becoming a professor one day.

Peter honestly didn’t see what they had to be that upset about. He’d held his silence and never revealed to anyone else that Sirius was a dog and James a stag; they could tell people or not on their own. But he had looked long and hard at Albus Dumbledore the day he had announced that he wanted talented students to join the Order.

He’d seen a man who was recruiting children to fight his war. More than that, a man who approached only Gryffindors (and now and then a select Hufflepuff). If House prejudices really had no place in a full life, as their professors were forever telling them, how could it have a place in a decision as important as who should fight to free their world?

That, and, well...

Peter glanced at the clock, but it was still a few minutes before he would join Minerva to walk to the Great Hall for dinner.

Albus, and the rest of the Order, saw Riddle as a madman who would someday rise up and eradicate all the Muggleborns in their world, mainly because he pandered the politically-powerful pure-bloods who wanted that. And Peter did think that prejudice was stupid and not something he wanted to emulate.

But was he the only one who saw Riddle as a _politician? _Someone who followed that rhetoric when necessary, but also promoted Muggleborns to positions of power and favored half-bloods more than anyone? Someone who steered the Wizengamot as if with a bridle because he could anticipate what they wanted and somehow twist their desires around so that the answer to achieving them focused on him?

Peter didn’t admire every decision Riddle had made. Some struck him as risky, or made out of laziness, because Riddle didn’t really care about the question under debate and simply went with whatever would please the majority of his supporters.

But in general, Peter couldn’t imagine someone further from a madman. Someone who had to play the political balancing game he did was simply too clever to fall into madness through the use of Dark rituals the way Albus and the Order believed he had. And if he had been pretending at sanity, he would have been found out by now.

Peter had chosen a different path than war. If it was a kind of sneaking, sly way of peace, well, that fit with the admiration he felt for Riddle, too.

And with his Animagus form, even though he didn’t think he needed another reminder of that.

Someone knocked briskly on the door, although from years of experience, Peter knew by now that the “someone” was Minerva. He smiled as he opened his door, and Minerva nodded to him with the relaxed expression Peter wished she would wear around the students more often. It would help lessen their terror of her.

“Ready, Professor Pettigrew?” She was always formal like that out in a corridor, where a student might pass and overhear.

“Yes, Professor McGonagall,” Peter said, and went to fetch his scarf. His seat at the High Table seemed to have a persistent draught.

*

“There’s nothing else you need from me, sir?”

“No, thank you, Auror Shacklebolt,” Tom said, and waited for the Head Auror to depart before he leaned back in his chair and stared into the fire that blazed in a corner of his office. It was high summer, and he knew the others thought it an affectation.

However, the fire wasn’t for his benefit. A long, lean shadow uncoiled near his feet and slithered towards the fire.

“_You are well, Nagini_?” Tom asked, leaning over to let his fingers trail down her back. The smoothness of her scales, and the silvery color of them, comforted him. He had her layered and armored in spells that would turn everything short of a Killing Curse.

_“I am well, my human._” Nagini curled up near the fire, although with her head resting on his foot, and stared into the hearth.

Tom looked down at her. Few people knew of her existence. None knew that she was his familiar, bound to him by such spells that they tugged on his very soul.

Of course, there was another tug, another bond that should have been completed for the good of his soul and was simply empty, stretching away into midair like smoke. Tom could see it whenever he worked magic that used Nagini’s help.

If he had his soulmate, then he could use magic that would ensure even the Killing Curse could not take Nagini away. He might achieve immortality, as the most powerful fourfold-bonded pairs supposedly did. It was the only reason he had held back on creating Horcruxes. They promised immortality, but nothing else.

He could do that. _If _he had his soulmate.

Tom’s lips curled in a silent snarl. He had risen to the position of Minister because he wanted the power and because he loved the game of playing one faction off against each other, but also because he wanted security as deep as he could make it. When he found his soulmate, he would not lose them.

“They must exist,” he muttered in English.

Nagini lifted her head and locked her bright golden eyes with his. She didn’t understand English most of the time, but she had heard those words often enough to know what they meant. “_They exist, or the empty place in your soul would not,_” she agreed. “_But you have sought them for almost seventy years without finding them. Will you not give this up and find some other way of achieving what you want, my human? Your magic has kept you looking as young as it has, with undiminished strength. You are strong enough to fulfill your desires by yourself._”

Tom shook his head. “_I want them so that I can achieve things that would take me decades or centuries otherwise. Decades or centuries I do not have. And I want them—_“ He stopped.

“_Yes_?”

But not even to Nagini could he speak of the other reasons, although she knew them already and Tom also knew that she would never betray his secrets. He reached down and ran a long, slow hand over Nagini’s back. The spells he had on her scales trembled under his touch and made her arch her neck in pleasure.

“_Enough that I want them. I shall have them. I shall court them and make them fall in love with me._”

Not that Tom believed it would be difficult. Someone who was a true mate to his soul would have the same burning, boundless ambition that he did, and must also welcome the increase in power. They would be unstoppable together, and Tom wanted that.

He did not want to consider the likely possibilities: that either his soulmate was so young he would have to wait decades more, or that his soulmate knew exactly who Tom was and was avoiding him on purpose.

_I would not be a rival. I would not harm them. Can they not see that?_

But such thoughts were for the silence and the fire. Tom settled back and allowed himself ten minutes more before he stood.

He had to hear a tricky case before the Wizengamot tomorrow, and he needed his rest.


	2. Attempts

“Come in, Minerva.”

Minerva ignored her own tingling spine as she opened the door of Albus’s office and stepped through. She had been scheduled to visit him, and in any case, he had a phoenix and the ability to speak to all the portraits in the castle. It would have been stranger if he _hadn’t _known who was knocking.

Fawkes crooned at her in greeting from his perch off to the side of the room. Albus gave her a smile, too, but it was fainter. Minerva sat down across from him in the chair that he always offered adult guests and studied him over the rim of a whirling silver dish.

“Is something wrong?” Albus’s voice dipped into the gently chiding one that bothered so many people.

“Yes. I’m worried about you, Albus.”

That made Albus sit a bit further back from the desk. Minerva kept up her direct stare. Frankly, she had learned too much about Albus in the last few decades to be put off by the twinkling eyes or the smile that he now turned on her. She had watched his appetite, instead, and where his eyes fell when they roved over the Great Hall.

She had noticed the tightness of his mouth, and the way that he smelled of potion fumes. What had he been brewing that he couldn’t ask Juliet Legion, their Potions Professor, to brew for him?

“It’s only old memories returning to haunt me, Minerva,” Albus said at last. “You know what day is coming up next week.”

She did, but only because Albus had let her into his confidence long ago, and she had once been part of the Order of the Phoenix, before Albus’s drive to recruit all the useful students he could find had made her walk away. Minerva shook her head. “They died more than sixty years ago, Albus. Why do you still feel so guilty?”

“Because I didn’t realize what young Tom was until it was too late. If I had been doing my job and watching out as I was supposed to do—if I hadn’t discounted the evidence of my senses because I was so convinced that a child that young couldn’t be so Dark—then Albert Langley and Kim Yarrow would still be alive.”

Minerva shrugged, uncomfortably. She could feel the coiling swirl of her own blue soul-mark, an eddy of water, on her shoulder if she breathed the right way. That was over now, with Elphinstone’s death, but the thought of someone burning it off her before she had even met him still made her burn with rage.

“Or their children would be,” Albus added softly, because they had had this conversation before and he knew the next steps as well as Minerva did. “Their grandchildren. Their cousins. He killed their families as if it was _nothing_, Minerva.”

“Because they burned his soul-mark off,” Minerva said. “You know that they would have spent the rest of their lives in Azkaban if anyone had believed him, Albus.”

“Then they would have done that.” Albus moved his hand impatiently. “Justice. But instead, Tom Riddle enacted vengeance. How is any of this allowed to go unpunished?”

Minerva sighed. While Albus recruiting students had been the biggest reason she’d walked away from the Order, this was another part of it. “Brooding on the wrongs of the past does no one any good. If you want to work against Riddle politically and prevent another Langley and Yarrow, fine. But I don’t think that trying to start a war is a good idea.”

“The war is going on, Minerva. Or have you noticed how often Muggleborns leave our world after graduating Hogwarts? I do my best, and I do believe that the prejudice is less in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, but Slytherin and Ravenclaw still spread their hatred of anyone who is not a pure-blood. What good does it do to have money and professors to expand our school if we cannot serve the ones who most need us?”

“I’ve noticed the number of Muggleborns Riddle’s promoted in the Ministry, too.” Minerva hated herself for getting involved in the argument the minute the words passed her lips. It never ended any other way but with an admission that Albus was right, because he wouldn’t _let _it end any other way.

“He only promotes the ones who agree with him, Minerva. The ones who want to shed their Muggle past and prove that they’re ‘unique individuals’ who can be useful to him.”

“Why would you expect Riddle to promote his political opponents? You don’t.”

“He only does it to put them on his leash, Minerva, not in true recognition of their talent. Don’t tell me that you don’t see the difference.”

Minerva held up a hand and stood. “Very well, Albus. I came to see what you were worried about. If it is only misplaced grief over decades-old murders, then I will leave you be.”

She turned to go, but a piece of parchment shoved towards the edge of the desk caught her eye. It was one of the detailed plans, announced in the _Prophet, _for Riddle’s monthly “public day,” when anyone could approach him in a building near the Ministry and ask him questions or make pleas for help directly. Riddle always published the number and names of Aurors he would be traveling with, the name of the place, the length of time he’d be there, and more details that Minerva found so tedious she’d never read them.

It was an extremely odd thing for Albus to have on his desk, no matter how much he wanted to watch his “enemy.” Minerva snapped her gaze to his face. “What are you planning, Albus?”

“Only what needs to be done.”

Minerva narrowed her eyes. But the fact was, she had no proof that Albus was doing anything wrong. The smell of the potions that had hung around him were harmless; she’d asked Juliet, who had said they were only ordinary health draughts for clarity of mind, making up for lost meals, and the like. If Albus was brewing them, he was probably actually taking care of himself better than Minerva had thought.

Minerva hesitated, but in the end, she left the room without speaking further. It wasn’t her war. It wasn’t even a “war” in the strictest sense of the word. Riddle paid almost no attention to Albus, other than sending politely-worded letters when they disagreed on some expansion or plan the Ministry wanted to put into place at Hogwarts.

Minerva had her own hands full, with students, Deputy Headmistress duties, being the Head of Gryffindor House, and acting as a buffer between Albus and poor Peter, whom Albus still hadn’t forgiven. Asking questions only got her involved in useless arguments like the last one. She would let it be.

*

Albus closed his eyes as the door shut. Honestly, he wasn’t sure that he had spoken the truth to Minerva, after all. He wasn’t sure that he was doing only what needed to be done.

But on the other hand, what else could he _do_? No one would be able to stop Tom Riddle if he didn’t act. For some people he was already years too late, but he could protect the future.

Albus glanced once more at the paper resting on the edge of his desk. Yes, all the Aurors and officials named in it were ones who had cooperated with Riddle in the past, which moved them out of the category of innocents into the one of war criminals. Albus shook his head. He wasn’t aware of the blood status of all of them, but they had helped Riddle, and that was what he needed to know.

He reached under his desk and picked up a huge crate of potions, all in Strength-Charmed glass flasks. Mind-healing potions and nutrient potions were the majority, but there were also some that would promote the growth of healthy flesh and bone.

He knew he couldn’t let Minerva see those. She might prefer to avoid the war as much as possible, but she would be able to know that there was no reason _Albus _would require them.

He looked back up in time to meet the shimmering tears in Fawkes’s eyes. Albus shook his head and reached out to trace his fingers over the bright plumage on the phoenix’s neck. Fawkes let him, but continued to weep.

“I don’t know what else to do,” Albus said tiredly. “And this is in the name of justice, and the name of love. That must ease the sting.”

From the mournful way Fawkes looked at him, it didn’t. But Albus had little time for phoenix morals. He was late already. He picked up the crate of potions and made his way to the Floo.

*

“You, Potter!”

Harry looked up and gaped at Whipwood, jamming a finger into his chest. It didn’t take a lot of effort. It was still September, his interrogation had been passed just last week, and there shouldn’t be any reason for an Auror to summon him now. “Me, Auror Whipwood?”

“You! The Minister wants you as part of his entourage for the public day. Says that you’ll represent the common man’s point-of-view.” Whipwood stared at the crusted remains of Harry’s breakfast on his desk and the stacks of paper wavering right on the edge, and shook her head. The wind from the motion sent one of the stacks over. “Well, he’s got that right.”

Harry bent down to pick up the papers, babbling all the while. “Oh, no, Auror, I’m sure that you must be mistaken. The Minister would never ask for _me. _Maybe he didn’t say Potter, maybe he said Peters?” Algernon Peters was one of Harry’s co-workers, who did all sorts of brilliant strategizing for Quidditch teams and would probably be hired as a coach soon. Harry hated him on principle.

“That’s what I asked, too.” Whipwood’s face was stony when Harry turned back to her. “But he said he meant Potter.”

Harry sighed mournfully and scrubbed one sleeve over the crumbs. “If I have to. Are they going to serve lunch at the public day thingy, at least?”

Whipwood gave him a look like a slashing branch and turned away. Harry trailed after her, his mind racing. If they _did _serve lunch, it would serve the same purpose as the crumbs on his desk did. Riddle abhorred sloppiness. Harry could chew with his mouth open and get bits everywhere and disgust him.

But it made him wary that Riddle had asked for his presence in the first place, “common man’s perspective” or not. The whole point was to be meek and forgettable. If Riddle remembered him, even from contempt, then Harry was close to compromising his cover.

_You can always come to us, _whispered his mother’s voice in his head. _Information isn’t as important as your life. _

But Harry didn’t want to flee until he had no choice. The Order was safe in its way, but the complex magic that kept it so would be strained by the presence of one more person. And Harry didn’t have much in the way of friends here, but at least he didn’t have people hunting him down for his blood.

And no one asking questions about where his soulmate was, either. No one here was _interested _enough in Harry to ask him questions like that.

Harry lifted his head, and followed Whipwood.

*

“Minister Tom Riddle!”

Tom had once hated the sound of his own name—so unremarkable and ordinary and _Muggle_—but it did sound better when it was preceded by the title of his office, he had to admit. And the hoarse cheering from the Aurors as he walked into the middle of the prepared space for the public day made his smile come more easily than it might have.

Tom looked around. Yes, the chairs were set up, and the desks that usually occupied the office of the St. Mungo’s Satellite Office for Less Serious Illnesses had been removed. The dome that arched overhead, with an enormous faceted crystal skylight, shed dazzling radiance he would enjoy exploiting.

There was a chair that was almost a throne in the middle of that space of light. Tom let his smile turn genuine. The thing was, after the first few years, he had never had to suggest anything like that to them. They did it _themselves_.

Human beings were truly the most remarkable creatures on the planet.

He paused for a flash from a camera, carefully masking his sneer, and then strode towards the chair. It had a star imprinted into the wood at the back Tom knew that when he sat down, his head would be precisely in the center of the star, with the lower points projecting out around his shoulders and the top points shining above his head.

He turned and sat down, and saw the faint smiles from his publicists and the larger ones from the Aurors, who took everything at face value. Tom posed for a second and let his gaze sweep around the room.

For a moment, it lingered on the young man standing next to Auror Whipwood with his arms folded, his face locked in a petulant scowl. Why was anyone attending the pre-public day festivities with such unruly hair?

Then Tom remembered, and smiled at Potter. He was doing this as a favor for the poor idiot, honestly. Perhaps he would learn some ambition if he saw the rewards of it so obviously.

Potter caught his eye and flushed, but also seemed about one second away from sticking out his tongue. Tom smiled back and let his gaze wander on. There were other people here who would be far more honored by it.

And there were others waiting for his speech, of course.

“My dear friends…”

*

The sandwich was corned beef and good enough that Harry almost didn’t want to chomp on it and send bits spewing around. But his deception was worth more than a sandwich, so he talked with his mouth full and let crumbs escape down his robes and in general made his neighbors move away from him.

He was explaining the theory behind Gobstones while chewing with his mouth open, to a witch who looked as though she wished her neighbors were smaller, when someone laid a hand on his shoulder. Harry turned around with wide eyes and said, “Minifter Riddle, thir!”

Riddle looked at the piece of half-masticated bread that had landed on his buttons, just shy of the jeweled phoenix, and then let his eyes travel slowly back up to Harry’s face.

Harry blushed on command—that part he was good at—and put down the sandwich and said, “Um. Minister Riddle, sir.”

“You were invited to provide the common man’s perspective, Mr. Potter,” Riddle said, with a slight shake of his head. “Not the _vulgar _one.”

Several people around them tittered on cue. Harry let his flush deepen, and bowed his head until he wasn’t looking at Riddle’s face anymore. That was all to the good. He knew from Headmaster Dumbledore’s warnings that Riddle was an accomplished Legilimens. Harry had probably only got away with his lies under Veritaserum because Riddle hadn’t bothered to try and sense them. Everyone _knew _that someone under Veritaserum could only tell the truth.

“You will give me all the apology I need if you slow down and try to _appreciate _the food,” said Riddle.

Harry let his head bob, and said quietly, “Sorry, sir.” If people like Riddle said only one thing was necessary to an apology, that was always a cue to provide more.

“Apology accepted,” said Riddle smoothly, and walked away from Harry back to the throne-like chair. Harry wanted to roll his eyes, but he held still, because people would expect it from him. Everyone else was seated on a bench in front of a long table like the ones in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and Riddle got a bloody throne?

Then Harry sighed. The thoughts were only a desperate attempt to distract himself from the itch beginning under his skin. Something had been bothering him since they’d walked into the Healing building, and he didn’t know what it was.

The only thing he could compare it to was the feeling he sometimes got just before the Snitch changed direction. He knew things wouldn’t stay the same. He knew they would alter any second. But he couldn’t open his mouth and name the direction the Snitch would choose.

And he couldn’t say what bothered him now.

Harry took a few more restrained bites of the sandwich and caught Auror Whipwood’s gaze. The woman next to her was her soulmate, Eloise Jensen. Jensen gave Harry a scolding smile. She was the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports and an excellent supervisor, and her black eyes radiated calmness across the room.

Harry wondered sometimes why Fate had played such a stupid game that one of the kindest people he knew had ended up soulmated to one of the worst, but not as often as he wondered what the fuck Fate had been thinking with _his _soul-mark.

Harry stood up, and stretched, and left the food tables behind as he ambled around the space. It was a nice-looking building, even without the skylight. He had to admit that. Not much else, maybe, but that.

The members of the public would be arriving soon. Harry honestly wasn’t sure why Riddle had this particular little meal and speech and posing for the cameras before they did. Was it just to impress the people around him? But for the most part, they were pretty impressed with him already.

_And me as the notable exception, _Harry thought as he paused to scratch viciously at his shoulder blade. A couple people glanced at him with an expression of disgust. Harry moved his hand down to scratch his arse, even though it didn’t itch, and actually got them to back away.

Harry grinned, but it faded the minute he thought he didn’t feel anyone looking at him. This was_ weird, _this itching and prickling up his spine. Sure, it had happened with the Snitch, but that all ended quickly. This just went on and on.

Then Harry abruptly leaped in place and turned. _That_ feeling, he knew. Someone had just raised wards around the building that would keep anyone from Apparating or Portkeying out. He had felt them go up around his house the night he was fifteen and his parents had to flee, though they’d got out before the wards went up.

_Fuck. Riddle’s enemies? Or Riddle himself?_

Other people were starting to react now, and from their expressions, it had to be Riddle’s enemies (although Harry wouldn’t have put it past the man to stage something like this just for the pictures in the papers). Riddle was issuing orders in a low voice. The Aurors had spread out to cover the windows and doors. Others had formed into a tight guard around Riddle’s throne.

Harry was the only one who found his gaze drawn irresistibly up and to the skylight.

A huge, black, falling thing was all he had time to see, before it dissolved into waves of painful Dark magic and smashed into the skylight.

And the roof, and the walls, and everything else. Harry snapped his head up. He could see star-shaped patterns of cracks cutting through the room, as though someone had wanted to imitate the design on the back of Riddle’s throne.

He felt something else, too: the thick, smoky line of a particular spell lacing along the cracks, flowing with them. It was a spell Dumbledore had taught him to recognize, one keyed to Riddle’s magical signature. That meant nothing Riddle could do would be enough to keep the roof from falling and crushing them all. And Riddle was the most powerful wizard in the room.

They were going to die. This was an Order of the Phoenix assassination attempt, but far more thorough and organized than Harry had ever seen before.

They were going to die.

And then Harry lost his head, and drew his wand.

*

Tom stared up at the cracks that seamed the roof above him, and knew what it meant. For a moment, the pieces were delicately, oddly, balanced, but they would fall, and they would crush him, and they would kill him, since he had prepared no Horcruxes.

He would never see Nagini again.

He would never find his soulmate.

The minute the falling object had appeared, coming towards the skylight, he had concentrated, lashing out with his power, aiming at the walls. He meant to Apparate himself and all those closest to him, something he had never announced he could do, but swearing his loyalists to secrecy was nothing next to living—

And he’d encountered the wards that would prevent Apparition and Portkeys, and the spell attuned to his magical signature, which would probably prevent him from acting in any way. That spell would affect every piece of rubble that fell, every stone, every shard of glass. Someone had planned well.

_Then you win, Albus, _Tom thought, his mind turning to the information that would be released in consequences of such an inevitability. _I hope you like your victory served up tasting of ashes. _

He saw eyes turning to him, hopeful, brilliant, eyes of people who did not understand. He began to give orders, not because he thought they would do any good but because they would hold down panic and perhaps keep anyone from realizing, before they died, that they were going to do so.

Because he was looking in the right direction, he saw the fire that rose from Harry Potter’s wand, and felt the sheer trembling magic unleashed from him, like the sudden unfurling of a dragon’s wings.

And then Tom saw what happened afterwards.

*

Harry called on fire because it was his best set of spells, and because it was the one that first came to mind. Later, when people scolded him for it, his only thought was that they hadn’t been there, and they hadn’t realized how fast the roof would come down.

“_Invoco ignem_!”

The petals of fire unfolded above him, and became wings, stairs, buttresses, stepladders of fire. Harry pushed with his sheer will, not having the time to chant the right incantation. He wasn’t even sure that there was a right incantation. Instead, there was desire. He desired, and it was done.

The flames spun away from him, fracturing and dividing, two-by-two, four-by-four, eight-by-eight, and then Harry lost the ability to count them. They seized every piece of the roof and the skylight and the walls where the cracks had penetrated, and gripped them. Some of them toppled over anyway, but the fire hovered and snatched those, too.

It was like watching the claws of a dragon you couldn’t see the body of, Harry thought, his mind and body vibrating from the sheer effort of holding up so many different parts. He kept thinking one must have escaped, and then—

No. He had to stop thinking that, or he _would _drop them. He pushed the fire up, and up, and up, and up, and then all the pieces were splayed above him, some caught in spirals, some on what looked like staircases of fire reaching from the ground to the ceiling, and some sealed in place by burning mortar. Harry sank to his knees, and fed more power into the flames. It was safer than releasing them right now. He had no attention to spare for where they would land if he did that.

“Mr. Potter! Let go!”

Someone was shouting right in his face. Harry blinked without looking away from the hovering rubble, and found Eloise Jensen there, her eyes fierce. She reached out and locked her hands on either side of his head, getting in the way.

“Aurors are ready and waiting to take the pieces when you let them go!” she shouted. “Do it before you drain yourself of magic and faint!”

Harry grimaced, thinking of how much more of a mess the fallout would cause if he just let it go randomly, and nodded. Then he pulled the flames back, slowly and smoothly, retracting them into his body like claws.

He felt Auror after Auror grab them, all of them working together doing what only Harry would be able to do by himself—or Riddle, if the magical signature spell hadn’t forbidden him from doing so. Harry sighed as he felt every piece of rock or glass or wood cupped and held. Yes, it was going to be all right.

When the release came, he sagged to hands and knees, breathing harshly. The thrum of his heart in his ears was its own hoarse song. He couldn’t hear anything beyond that.

For long moments, he didn’t want to. He just knelt there, reveling in the languid feeling of magic well-done, thinking—

Harry’s eyes snapped open as _thought _kick-started itself again.

_Oh, shit._

This was a magical assassination attempt that had to originate with the Order of the Phoenix. Probably with Dumbledore. He was the only one who would have been powerful enough to raise the wards by himself and cover the whole building, instead of just one portion of it, with the spell that was tied to Riddle’s magical signature.

And Harry had _stopped _it. Well, yes, he had saved many, many people’s lives, but Dumbledore must have considered it worth the sacrifice, and it wasn’t like he would have known Harry would be there, what with Whipwood bringing him along at the last minute.

Harry had interfered, and that meant Riddle had lived, when they could have ended the war with one strike.

As Harry slowly managed to get back to his knees, he thought other things. Saw other things. The wide, awed eyes of the people around him were one of those things, and they nearly made him sick to his stomach. These were people who knew he was powerful, now, and who—_shit_—owed him life-debts now. It was going to be so hard to duck back out of sight that Harry knew he might never manage it.

And there were laws, too, Harry suddenly remembered. Laws that Riddle had had passed years ago in an attempt to expose his soulmate more easily, as Dumbledore had informed him. Laws against hiding the power of your magic when the Ministry hired you, because it was supposedly “safer” for everyone at the Ministry to know what everyone else was capable of.

Laws that Harry had violated upside-down and sideways and backwards when he was hired, like he had faked his way through the OWLS and the NEWTS.

Harry finally regained the strength to lift his head. There were people applauding him now and others asking him questions, but the person his eyes locked on was Riddle. Riddle, whose smile was the most dangerous thing in the universe at the moment.

“Well, Mr. Potter,” said Riddle. “It certainly seems we have something to _discuss_, you and I. I am most anxious to begin the conversation.”

_Shit._


	3. Conversations

“Bring him.”

Riddle had said that and then had just started walking away, not even looking back at Harry. Whipwood closed in one side of him, Jensen on the other, and then an Auror each beyond that. Harry gritted his teeth and walked.

f/The most humiliating thing was that that wasn’t even within the first five minutes after Harry had levitated the pieces of the roof with fire, or even the first ten. Instead, Harry had had to recover for fully _thirty _minutes in a chair, panting, while Jensen handed him water and more sandwiches on Riddle’s orders. Riddle had watched Harry with brilliant, determined eyes, but hadn’t spoken to him. All he said were those commands to feed Harry and, now, haul him along.

_As if I were just a weapon for him to use. _

Harry tilted his head back and straightened his shoulders, ignoring the way that Jensen glanced at him, followed by Whipwood a second later. No, he was fine. And he was already spinning the lies in his head.

_All he knows about me is that I have power. That by itself isn’t enough to reveal me as his soulmate. Of course he’ll want to touch my mark to see if he is, but…_

Harry smiled a little. All he had to do was make sure that his small soul-mark, the words themselves—which were invisible among the tattoos of the shackles—were turned away from Riddle when he made the grab at Harry’s wrist. He might not even do that, given that he’d done it once already and found nothing.

But it was best to be prepared.

Harry walked the rest of the way back to the Apparition point spinning the lies and stories that he would use in his head.

*

Tom waited until they were safely back in his office to dismiss the Aurors. Of course there was no reason to think that Harry would attack him and try to bring down _this _roof on his head when he’d just saved Tom and some of his best people from that same fate, but it was always best to be cautious when dealing with Dumbledore and his Order.

Then he lunged across the desk and grabbed Potter’s arm.

Potter blinked at him, his eyebrows raised, saying nothing as Tom’s fingers explored the phoenix mark. But of course nothing happened, and of course further exploration did nothing, either. Blue fire would have sprung up between them in instants if they were true soulmates, and a further touch was not necessary.

Tom slid his hand slowly back across the desk, oddly disappointed. He had touched Potter once before and knew what the outcome would be now. But still, there were certain things he would have appreciated if this man had been his soulmate.

Such as that level of power, and those lovely green eyes, and the way his stare was direct for a second before he dropped his head to stare at the floor in pretended humility.

“I want to know why you hid your power,” Tom said. He settled back in his chair and crossed his legs. Not many people got to see him in this informal posture, but then, Mr. Potter had proven that he was anything but a normal person.

Potter kept staring at the floor for a second. Then he looked up, and his eyes were wide and he was biting his lower lip. He resembled the man who had scattered crumbs around at lunch far more than he did the one who had lifted the roof up with flames.

But Tom knew which one he thought was real. He contained his own amusement and waited for Potter’s mouth to open.

It did, and Potter spoke in a way that made it seem as if he was having to weigh every single word and make sure it was the right one. “I—well, I saw the cracks spread. I knew that something must have gone wrong, or you probably would have Apparated out the instant they appeared, sir.”

Tom smiled in spite of himself. Potter was doing his best to portray himself as an idiot, but it would have taken a quick mind, working more quickly than normal in an emergency, to notice that sort of thing while his life was in danger.

Potter blinked at him and went on more slowly yet. “I wanted to live. I knew that I would die if that roof fell on me. And so would everyone else in the room.” Potter pretended to shiver, and Tom was sure it was pretending. “I reached deep inside myself and found a kind of magic. Professor Dumbledore said that he did the same thing, once, when he was facing Grindelwald. Do you know—” Potter blushed, and it was a pretend blush, too, Tom was certain, Potter ducking his head in apparent embarrassment. “Of course you know Professor Dumbledore. You must talk with him about your plans for Hogwarts all the time.”

“Go on, Harry.”

“Wow, sir! It’s such an honor for someone so important to address me by my first name.”

Tom raised his eyebrows. That kind of behavior would have been enough to put him off, the way the mess at lunch had, in an ordinary situation, but they were no longer in an ordinary situation. Surely Potter had realized that by now? Or had he convinced himself that Tom would let anything go as long as he was disgusted enough by stupidity or bad manners?

Potter leaned forwards confidingly and said, “Anyway, the magic was there when I needed it. I doubt I could do it again. Unless, I mean, if my life was in danger or something.” He bit his lip some more in what Tom was utterly sure was feigned nervousness. “I could do it then. But I hope it never will be! I’m not an Auror, you know!”

Tom let the laughter that followed that statement die into silence. Then he leaned forwards. “No, Mr. Potter. You are something much rarer and more special.”

“Not your soulmate, though?” Potter managed a squeak, and to turn his face flaming red. Tom was more impressed with his acting skill than he wanted to be, considering what he suspected Potter might have been hiding from him. “I mean—I can’t be. You grabbed my wrist and didn’t go up in flames.”

Tom smiled a little. “No, Mr. Potter. I mean a spy from the Order of the Phoenix who has managed to figure out a way to trick Veritaserum. I am honestly impressed.” He leaned back and let his smile fade. “But I would be more impressed by honesty right now. Tell me why you chose to blow your cover today.”

*

_Shit._

Harry considered Riddle carefully, and whether it was possible that he might—

No. Every sign, from the stern face to the crackle of buzzing power that Harry could feel building around the Minister, warned him against lying. Harry considered it for one more moment.

Then he straightened up in the seat, and curled his hands in his lap as if he was overwhelmed with fury. That brought his hand close to the Portkey that he wore every day as a robe button and which no one had ever noticed because it was essentially inactive until prodded by a jab of Harry’s magic. Mum’s words throbbed in his head. _Information is worth less than your life. _

And, even more than that, the information he had passed on—which had never been much—was worth less than other kinds of information. The kinds that Riddle could pry out of his head if he really believed Harry was a spy.

The Portkey made him feel more comfortable, though. Well, that and the fact that Riddle had brought Harry to his office instead of throwing him into a cell. He could have grabbed his wrist and then done that immediately, and no one really the wiser.

Riddle had some other plan for him.

“Say that I believe that,” he said, and saw Riddle mark the change in his voice and the way he held himself. “That you’d be impressed by honesty. How much honesty can I get away with here?”

“I suspect you will tell me something I do not want to hear.”

“Oh, yes. Minister Tom Riddle. Murderer of two _children _sixty years ago. And their families. Even the pets, it was said. Even the distant cousins.”

“Reciting ancient unproven allegations doesn’t make the case for your intelligence very strong, Mr. Potter.”

“I’m just getting _started_,” Harry said, and heard himself snarl. All the years of having to hold his tongue, around Riddle, around the people he had known at Hogwarts and at the Ministry, all the unfairness of his soulmate being a bastard because Fate didn’t have anything better to do than mess around with his life, built up in him and burst. “I’ve looked up your voting record, too, you know. Oh, it looks impressive. Promotions for Muggleborns, passing absolute bans against Muggle-hunting, improving inheritance practices for illegitimate half-blood children, it looks like you’re conducting a war against the old pure-blood elite. But then you look at the _other _votes. The ones that say the memories of Muggles who know about magic are _bound_, instead of wiped. They’ll be fine as long as they don’t try to talk to anyone who doesn’t know, but then they’ll be cursed and have their minds wiped back to child-status if they do. And replacing the Dementors on Azkaban with spells of your own creation—”

“They are humane, I assure you.” Riddle had a smile on his lips that looked frozen there. “I have had this discussion with many members of the Wizengamot far more informed than you, and—”

“They look humane if you don’t know that Legilimency underlies them.” Harry leaned in, his hands now fully curled around the Portkey button. “If you don’t know that they pull out memories of the crimes and torment the prisoners over and over with them, until they go mad.”

Riddle hadn’t moved, but he reminded Harry of a cat with every hair standing on end. Of course it was the magic, dancing around him and vibrating warningly, like a whole swarm of bees. Riddle said between closed teeth, “Prisoners are released from Azkaban on a regular basis, Mr. Potter. None of them are mad.”

“Until they get into circumstances that remind them of their original crime. Then their minds snap. You’re fond of that, aren’t you? It’s the same sort of punishment you employ on Muggles that know about magic.”

Riddle surged to his feet and stalked around the desk. Harry rose to his feet to meet him. He wasn’t afraid. The roaring fury still filled him too hotly, the way that his heartbeat had filled his ears after the display of magic at the St. Mungo’s satellite building.

*

Powerful, intelligent, and defiant. Tom found himself sorrier than he had been in years that a particular person was not his soulmate.

_And he has figured out a way to trick Veritaserum. _That was the particular achievement that intrigued Tom the most. Obviously Harry Potter did have a lot of politics, and they went far beyond just wanting equal rights for Muggleborns and half-bloods.

“Tell me what else you think you know about me,” he breathed, looming over Potter—who was shorter than him by several inches—and watching the changes in his face. Most of the time, people stepped back from him when he was this close, instinctively. They couldn’t stand the pressure of his magic, whether or not they could feel it.

Potter slid a step closer, until Tom could feel the hovering heat of his chest. His own magic was snapping around him like invisible fireworks. It was weaker than it would be most of the time, Tom thought, given the remarkable display of it he had put on not an hour before, but he also seemed to be recovering rapidly.

“I know that you came from a bloody Muggle orphanage, and yet you despise Muggles.” Potter stared him dead in the eye despite his shorter height, not seeming to care that it would strain his neck. His hands were clenched, and Tom found himself wishing to see them open, to see what Potter was like when he was relaxed. He had probably never seen the real man.

“Tell me how you know that.”

“The mind-wiping spells are one part of it. But you’re also funding research into giving magic to all human beings. That’s one way to eliminate Muggles, isn’t it? But your preliminary results have indicated that not all human bodies can tolerate magic, so you’re also funding ways to induce widespread disease—”

Tom’s amusement fled. The rest, he knew, were common talking points that anyone could bring up who had paid enough attention to his Wizengamot voting record, but that particular research was under sharp security at the Department of Mysteries.

He shot out a hand to grip Potter’s hair, but he had twisted away, his movements as graceful and fluid as if he had had Auror training after all. He was light on his feet, Potter was, and his magic had already started to surge as high as a wave.

Tom knew no one else who could have gone through such magical exhaustion and then recovered so fast. He wasn’t sure that he could have done so himself—and that was an unpleasant revelation to face when also confronting an enemy.

He fell back a step and reached for his wand. Potter gave him a taunting smile and reached for something that was _not _his wand.

It was pure instinct that made Tom raise the anti-Portkey spells. Apparition wasn’t possible for anyone but him from this portion of the Ministry anyway, and it was unlikely Potter had sneaked in a broom. So, when the swirling colors started to consume Potter’s body, they simply fell back like a splash of water around him.

Potter froze for a second. Then he nodded. “If you try to kill me, then I’m going to make sure I cripple you,” he said. There was a lurking certainty in the back of his words that Tom didn’t understand.

“It is _interesting, _Mr. Potter, that you assume I am going to kill you.”

“You reached for your wand. A duel with you in here would mean a great deal of property damage. If you didn’t kill me in the duel, you would kill me because I damaged your desk or cracked your chairs.”

Tom smiled fully, and let go of his wand. Potter didn’t do the same thing. He retained the coiled posture of an ambush predator.

Yet he couldn’t be an assassin for the Order. All he would have had to do was tear through the anti-Apparition spells earlier today, as Tom had not been able to do, and leap out if he was. Nor did it make sense that he would have worked in the Department of Magical Games and Sports for years without trying to harm Tom somehow.

“Why does the Order’s side appeal to you more than mine, Mr. Potter?”

“Because of the ridiculous reasons that you exiled my parents and godfather.”

Tom frowned for a moment, trying to remember what he knew about the circumstances under which Sirius Black and James and Lily Potter had become fugitives. “I must admit that I don’t remember those so-called ‘ridiculous reasons.’”

“Sirius played a prank. That was all he did. He made some of your mind-warpers believe that their spells on Muggles had failed.” Potter’s eyes were alight with hatred, and Tom wished that he could make them light up with enthusiasm instead. “A prank, and he had to run.”

“Do you know what would happen if the Muggles became widely aware of our world, Mr. Potter? Do you know—”

“I know that the Obliviators worked fine, when they still existed.”

Tom sneered. The boy might be appealing in some ways, but he was still irredeemably stubborn and obviously hadn’t paid as much attention to some versions of history as he had to Tom’s voting record. “Perhaps you should study the reason an overwhelming tide of votes swept me into office.”

“That would be called voter suppression, Mr. Riddle.”

Tom lost his sternness to a snort of laughter before he could stop himself. Potter watched him, still a wild creature, ready to strike in a way that Tom wished he could talk him out of.

“Is it?” Tom asked. “What techniques do you think I used to _suppress _voters, Mr. Potter, instead of encourage them to vote the way I wanted?”

“Encouraging them to vote the way you wanted is suppression!”

“No, it is not,” Tom said patiently. “I presented my own history with the Muggles, and many people were sympathetic to that. Would you say that is suppression? Telling the truth? I recall that Albus Dumbledore bent the truth, when it suited him.”

“You told the voters about your history, of course,” Potter said. “But you lied. Not everything you said happened did.”

“Oh, really? Do you want to tell me what is false in the history I should know because it is _my _history, Mr. Potter?”

“You said that the matron there hated you just because you were magical. That’s ridiculous. Muggles hate us when we’re cruel to them. They don’t hate us just _because_. It’s a stupid, exaggerated story that you manipulated to suit your own ends.”

Tom whirled his magic up around him, a crackling mass of lightning that he expected to send Potter cowering and weeping into a corner. Potter’s magic answered, and he looked as if he was going to charge Tom and stab him in the eye with his wand if he couldn’t do anything else.

That persuaded Tom to speak instead of striking. Most of the time, he would not allow anyone to deny or mock such a painful part of his life, one that had nearly led him to consider himself mad and seek means to erase the soul-mark he had been born with before his attackers had burned it off. But most people were afraid of him and sniveled when they saw so much as a tenth of the magic dancing around him now. Potter deserved more consideration simply for the blaze of courage in his eyes.

“Tell me,” Tom said, and made his voice a tolling bell. “How much experience do you have of Muggles?”

“I’ve met my friend Hermione’s parents. You exiled her, too. And I know that my mum has Muggle relatives.”

“But you’ve never met them, have you?” Tom goaded quietly. As a matter of fact, he had done research on Lily Potter’s relatives not long after she had run, in case she ever fled to them. What he had learned had convinced him that she never would. Mrs. Cole was worse than they were, but only slightly.

“No. What does that matter? I know that your quest to paint all Muggles as evil and dangerous means—”

“Your mother’s family is full of people who value being _normal _so much that they tell everyone your aunt’s sister died in a car crush. They say that she was a whore, and that your father was a drunkard. They haven’t told anyone about you. They didn’t even tell your cousin. If you showed up on their doorstep, your aunt would scream, your uncle might seize a gun, and your cousin would stare at you blankly and not know who you were.”

Potter breathed in harshly. Then he said, “And you think that _all _Muggles are like that?”

“I think that enough of them are that we must keep the knowledge of magic from them at all costs,” said Tom. He was speaking with more raw violence than he would have most of the time, but then again, he wouldn’t lure Potter in with the polished political speeches that he used to the Wizengamot, either. And he would like to lure him if he could. This much power and passion could be harnessed. “For example, did you know that Muggles have prejudices based on skin color?”

He got a blank stare and a “What?” from Potter.

Tom smiled. “You went to school with Blaise Zabini, did you not, Potter?”

“Yes, what about him?” Potter was watching Tom’s wand as if assuming that this was all a diversion and he would attack when Potter was off-guard. That wasn’t a bad idea, actually. But Potter seemed confident he could cripple Tom, and Tom would watch and wait. “He was a pure-blood Slytherin. Bit of a prat.”

“In the Muggle world, there are people who hate people like Mr. Zabini for the color of their skin.”

“That makes no sense—it sounds like the way you hate Muggles just for not having magic.”

Tom gritted his teeth. But he said, “It is the truth. I will swear any oath you like. The Muggle world contains violent prejudices and hatreds that make no sense and speak to how fundamentally unreasonable they are.”

Potter’s nostrils flared. “Then it sounds like wizards and Muggles are even more alike than I thought.”

Tom surged forwards and swung his magic like a whip at Potter. Potter’s magic answered, and Tom caught his breath as he ended up standing sideways to Potter, holding that implacable green gaze, while power swirled between them. Potter had been right. He _could _strike hard and deep, and Tom would win, but he would walk with a permanent limp, or lose a hand or an eye. And he could not afford such weakness in the judgment of the world.

From the malicious way Potter’s lips curled up, he knew exactly what Tom was thinking and was amused by all of it. Tom drove away all of his anger in a soft breath and said, “Perhaps we can make a different deal instead, Mr. Potter.”

“Tell me.”

“I assume, from the way you reacted when the ceiling cracked, this was not an Order plot that you had foreknowledge of.”

Potter’s magic tightened around himself in a glittering carapace that told Tom the answer even before Potter twitched his head. “No.”

“Then you might be willing to work with me.” Tom softened his voice. He was _good _at this. Of course, Potter could resist and get angry, but that might not matter much, not if Tom could handle him carefully enough. And Potter was an asset worth handling carefully. “You might be willing to see the ones who did _that _brought to justice, and some of the others—pardoned.”

“You said yourself in that speech you gave two years ago that you never pardon anyone. You said it would make it look like justice in the wizarding world depends on who you’re related to. As if it doesn’t already, of course, but I thought it was a pretty speech.”

Through the buzz of his own irritation, Tom couldn’t help but feel flattered. Not even his political opponents paid that much attention to his words—which was to his advantage since it made it easier to run circles around them, of course, but sometimes a wizard wanted someone who _did _pay attention.

“Everyone knows that political situations change,” Tom breathed, his eyes not moving from Potter’s face. “And I have pardoned those whose crimes turned out to be exaggerated or—not as bad. Perhaps we could reopen the investigation into your parents’ crimes. What were they made fugitives for?”

*

_Holy shit, he signed the order that would have stripped them of their possessions and their freedom and he doesn’t _know?

But Harry’s annoying habit of thinking through arguments so he could use them against Riddle worked against _him _now. To be fair to Riddle, this wasn’t the center of his life the way it was of Harry’s. Of course Harry knew every details of his parents’ and Sirius’s cases while to Riddle, they were just more paperwork.

But he didn’t _want _to be fair to Riddle. And if the man signed so many arrest warrants that he lost track of the most prominent names, didn’t that signal that something in their world needed to change?

Now, though…

Harry wondered what would make the man faithful to any promise that he made to Harry, when he probably wouldn’t be faithful to one made to his political constituents—unless they were pure-bloods—but he did have to admit that he didn’t like what Dumbledore had done, at all. And if his position was blown and he couldn’t flee to the Order, his best bet would be to find out something _really _important and make an escape once Riddle trusted him some more.

The thought was more tempting than it should have been, pulling at him like a hook.

_Remember what happens to hooked fish, Harry, _he chided himself, and studied Riddle slowly, looking for the telltales of a lie that Dumbledore had drilled him in. He didn’t see any of them, but then again, Riddle had always been annoyingly hard to read, too. Harry forced himself to relax. “I don’t think that you’re really going to move against Dumbledore if you didn’t in the past.”

“I might not have to now, either.” Riddle gave him a pleased smile that made him look like an eagle. “My Aurors brought in the magical signature analysis from the outside of the building. Dumbledore’s magical signature was only on one part of it.”

Harry stared at him blankly. “What?”

“The spell that was meant to keep me from using magic to stop the collapse,” Riddle went on, ignoring Harry’s gape. “That was his, oh yes. But everything else? No. Multiple, powerful wizards, all working together with him.” He took a step away, clasping his hands behind his back and looking every inch the politician for a moment. “None of them recognizable, either. But then, the spells to track magical signatures so well were only perfected within the last five years, and I believe most of the Order went on the run long before that?”

“No. I…” _Mum and Dad wouldn’t be part of something like this. Sirius wouldn’t. Remus might be estranged from everyone, but he wouldn’t be part of it, either._

“Your parents and godfather are not the only members of the Order, Harry. Not the only ones who believe in their cause.” Riddle’s voice was low and insidious, winding into Harry’s thoughts like fouled water flowing into a stream. “Think of it. This was a plan to kill multiple innocent people. Let us leave aside the question of my own innocence for a moment. And your own beloved Headmaster was willing to see them die.”

Harry closed his eyes. It was what he hadn’t wanted to confront, even when he thought Headmaster Dumbledore was the only one who’d worked the magic on the building. That they were willing to sacrifice so _many _lives, all the Aurors and reporters in that room, to murder Riddle.

But Harry found his tongue from somewhere, sluggish as it was. “Professor Dumbledore would say that the people in that room with you are war criminals since they’ve aided you.”

“War criminals for writing articles? War criminals for arresting people who had nothing to do with any absurd political agenda of mine? For protecting people against Dark wizards?”

“I—” Harry looked away. “I didn’t say that I believed that. I’m telling you the argument he would use.”

“Ah. And is there a struggle going on in your heart, young Harry? Who should you believe, the man who mentored you and turned you into a spy and means the world to you? The man who also turned children into Order of the Phoenix members so young that they’ve remained loyal to him through _nine _or _thirteen _years on the run? Or me, the evil man that your Headmaster raised you to fear and hate? The man who cannot commit war crimes because _there is no war_?”

Riddle’s voice cracked like his magic had earlier, reaching for Harry’s soul, and Harry jerked out his answer without thinking. “You’re going to launch a war any day now! You want to torture and kill Muggleborns.”

Riddle stared at him. “What?”

“You pander to all the pure-bloods who want that! You give them prominent positions in your government! You make sure that they get their voices heard in the Wizengamot—”

Riddle laughed like a raven. “And for how many years have I been doing that, Harry? Longer than you’ve been alive, long before I was Minister. If I’ve been balancing them and indulging them for fifty years, where is this war that Dumbledore predicts so ardently? Do you think that I would have planned this long when my only real opposition is a bunch of hotheaded idiots and one old man?”

“You could be trying to take people off-guard.”

Riddle snorted, then, not something that Harry had ever pictured him doing. The elegant man in his head, the epitome of pure-blood pride, wouldn’t even know what such a plebian noise sounded like. “I wouldn’t have needed fifty years for that. No, Harry, this is a _game. _I want power and security for myself, and I intend to have it. I balance the pure-bloods because they are rich and entrenched and part of the game. They dance to my tune. A _half-blood’s _tune, or have you forgotten, you who know so much about my background? It’s one of the most satisfying things about this, I have to admit.”

Harry shook his head. “A game. That’s horrible. You’re playing with people’s lives, beliefs—”

“As they would play with Muggleborns if not properly leashed. I am doing the work that your Headmaster never wanted to do, Harry. Stepping up to do the leadership that other people only contemplate and complain about.”

Harry said absolutely nothing. He could see the way Riddle was trying to play _him_, and he still wanted to reject it. The idea that Dumbledore’s ethics were twisted, that he was also playing with other people’s lives, and that Riddle was at least honest about it.

But did that make him any less horrible? Did that make him any less worthy of being stopped, if he wasn’t actually planning a war?

The answer sounded like a bell from the furthest depths of Harry’s soul.

_Yes. _

If Riddle wasn’t the kind of monster Harry had always been taught to think he was, it did change things. And it left Harry with a lot to think about, at the very least.

“This doesn’t mean I’m suddenly on your side,” he told Riddle, opening his eyes and glaring at the man. He gave his magic a warning rattle. The man liked snakes, he ought to appreciate that.

Riddle smiled at him. “Give me a chance to convince you, Harry. Stay with me and watch me work. We can spread the word that you’re my bodyguard in case our enemies attempt something else like this. You’re obviously the second most powerful wizard currently working with the Ministry.” Riddle’s smile altered then, becoming something more familiar from the months that Harry had watched him. “And we can see about you retaking those tests, and admitting to the truth of what you are. Perhaps exams as well?”

Harry groaned. Still, hope pulsed in him. There was still the chance that he could get useful information for the Order, or escape at some point. Bound to the Minister’s side and watched was still better than imprisoned in Azkaban or dead.

“You’d better not make me regret this,” he muttered to Riddle.

To his shock, he found that he believed Riddle when the man clasped his hand and said, “I would consider it a personal failure if you did, Harry.”

*

What Tom said to Harry was nothing less than the truth. He had never failed in converting anyone he set his sights on. It would irk him to no end if he did this time and lost someone whose magic sang around him like this.

And something else was the truth, too, something he would never say, something that he buried as deeply inside him as the knowledge of Nagini’s existence.

_What a pity that he is not my soulmate._


	4. Complications

“I feel sick,” Lily whispered, her hands wrapped tight around her wand. She and James were sitting in a tent in the Order’s encampment and listening to the sound of rushing water outside. There was _always _rushing water outside, even though they hadn’t camped near a river. Frankly, Lily was getting sick of it, too.

But the nausea that had consumed her right now was of another order. And she couldn’t get rid of it by just standing up and moving around.

“You know that Albus had—good intentions.” James put a hand on her shoulder. He was speaking as though his jaw was about to crack, though.

Lily said nothing, staring blindly ahead. The golden walls of their tent billowed up and down in the gentle breeze. She wanted to scream and kick something. She wanted to fling her wand into the air and run away from it.

She and James had put together the spells Albus had asked for in good faith, and Albus had stored them in a potions vial, the way he’d learned how to do, in order to release them later. Neither she nor James had known that—

Lily closed her eyes, and James made a soothing noise behind her and kissed her forehead.

Neither one of them had known that the spells, put together, would come close to killing their own _son_.

“Things worked out,” James breathed into her ear, with that optimism Lily had always loved. She had lost it herself, especially after their fifth year and what had happened with Severus. “You know that Albus isn’t going to try something like that again.”

Lily flung herself to her feet and turned around, nearly striking James, who stepped back and stared at her in dismay. “No, he won’t,” Lily snapped. “But only because this _failed_! Not because he’s changed his mind about trying to kill Riddle!”

James swallowed and sat down on the chair she’d stood up from. Lily turned and walked to the tent flap, leaning against a carved harp that she had always meant to learn to play. She’d made it during their first year on the run, and she’d pictured herself playing delicate, rippling music on the day that they won the war and came out of exile. She had pictured Harry’s face when he heard it.

He would never hear it now. Either because Riddle would kill him, or because Harry would turn away from her and his father in horror when he learned what they’d done.

Lily shut her eyes, but it didn’t matter. Tears still leaked from beneath the lids, and James shuddered in pain. Lily could feel it without turning. Their bond was always active, like that, always the bond of joined, fulfilled, fourfold love.

It was why they’d been able to put together the spells Albus asked for, and why the signature-tracking spells Riddle’s Ministry wielded would have trouble finding them. The signature of two soulmates acting together read very differently from actions they took on their own, and the magic that tracked magical signatures at all was so recent an invention that the Ministry hadn’t learned how to account for that yet.

Sooner or later, though, Harry would have to learn the truth. How would he look at them then? Would he _even _look at them? Or would he never speak to them again?

The nausea in Lily’s belly squirmed faster.

“We did what we thought was right,” James whispered. “And the last thing we heard, Harry hadn’t been found out as Riddle’s soulmate. You know that bastard would have announced it that he’d found what he was looking for at last. Probably be planning the fucking wedding right now, too. That means he’s alive. That means he hasn’t betrayed us, either, and we can explain it to him someday.”

Lily shook her head a little. “We shouldn’t _have _to explain it to him, James! We never should have endangered him in the first place!”

James wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed the top of her head. The bond between them trembled with tension, and Lily doubted they would agree if she kept trying to force him to see her side. She relaxed back against him, staring out the flap of the tent. The glint of sunlight off the golden trees and the waterfall nearby didn’t cheer her up.

“We can’t go back in time and change the past,” James murmured. “All of Albus’s best people haven’t figured out how to do that. We can only move forwards and hopefully send a message to Harry when he’s alone.”

“When will he be, though? You know the Ministry will probably be watching his post now, and we can’t guarantee that a Patronus would find him alone.”

Lily knew when her husband was grimacing. “You realize that we’re probably going to have to use Sirius’s talent.”

“I don’t entirely trust Sirius to get to Harry without trying to play a prank somewhere.”

“You know that he’s been raging ever since he heard about Riddle taking Harry captive. We’ll explain it to him and emphasize that he’s our best hope. He likes being depended on, you know.”

Lily sighed and let her head tilt back. James’s shoulder was solid and waiting for it, as always. He smoothed his hand over her hair, and Lily gazed into the world that the Order had opened a portal to and just hoped that he was right.

*

“You mean to say that _one _person prevented the roof from falling on the Minister and all the rest of the people he had around him?”

Peter put down the buttered scone in front of him and turned to face Minerva, raising his eyebrows. He hadn’t paid much attention to the papers or even gossip in the past few days, caught as he was in the middle of a pile of Transfiguration essays. The first ones assigned in a new term were always hard.

Minerva’s mouth was grim as she stared at the front page of the _Prophet_. When she saw Peter looking, she held the paper out.

Peter was glad that he hadn’t put the scone in his mouth, since he choked at the picture of the boy on the first page. It was definitely Harry, despite the fact that the photograph was in black-and-white and hadn’t captured the intense green of his eyes. Peter didn’t think he knew anyone else in the world with a jaw that stubborn.

He read the headline and then the article and felt numb. He handed the paper back to Minerva and stared at the breakfast he had no appetite for.

“Peter? Are you all right, dear boy?”

Only from Minerva could he tolerate that kind of address. Although, Peter noticed as his eyes went past Minerva to the chair that Albus usually sat in, it seemed that he would have only one person here today who would try to say it anyway.

“Sorry, it’s just a shock,” he murmured. “To know that a student I had, and the son of one of my dearest friends, did this—I never saw a glimpse of that power when he was here as a student. Did you?”

“No.” Minerva regarded the paper again, with a slight shake of her head. “He would sometimes have a fluke of power in his NEWT-level Transfiguration classes, but I’m sorry to say that his exams were most disappointing. An Acceptable in Transfiguration, when his father was capable of so much more. And he got a Poor in most other subjects, you know. The ones he was taking. It wasn’t many because of the OWLS that he didn’t pass.”

“Then—you think he hid it deliberately?” That shocked Peter a little. But when he thought about it, well, maybe it wasn’t so strange. He and Sirius and James had successfully hidden that they were Animagi from most people at that age, and Remus had hidden his secret until that dreadful night in the tunnel.

“I suppose so, but I can’t imagine why. He could have been promoted away from that lowly position he has right now if he hadn’t!”

_Unless that was the point, _Peter thought, chilled, and staring at the stubborn face. _To stay hidden and out of the way until the time was right. _

Right for what, though? Peter’s first thought was assassination, but Harry had actually _saved _the Minister from assassination. And he hadn’t made an effort to get close to Riddle, anyway, like a skilled actor could have.

“But I suppose we’ll be seeing Mr. Potter soon and we can ask him for ourselves,” Minerva continued, sounding almost as if she was talking to herself.

Peter blinked. “What? But why would someone it says the Minister has recruited for a bodyguard come here?”

“They think he was faking his results on the OWLS and NEWTS. They want him to retake them, and you and I to administer them. Apparently they’re afraid of corruption in the Wizarding Examination Authority, or incompetence, since they didn’t spot his deception the first time.”

“Neither did we.”

Minerva gave him a thin-lipped smile. “Well, you know the bias Minister Riddle has in favor of Hogwarts professors. That has pretty much always existed.”

Peter nodded. Yes, it had, and Hogwarts had benefited from the time and attention and money Riddle had seen fit to lavish on it. He gave another glance at the photograph in the paper, and wondered what he should do if Harry approached him and begged for Peter’s help in hiding his power again.

Somehow, Peter didn’t think it would be wise to give him that help.

*

“Don’t you enjoy seeing Hogwarts again, Harry? I believe that you were a Gryffindor. Can you point out the seventh-year boys’ windows to me from here?”

Harry kept silent. Riddle was _teasing _him, of all things, walking easily beside him as they made their way towards the doors of Hogwarts, and glancing up and down as though he was really interested in windows, and Gryffindors, and Harry.

Of course, Harry had listened to enough Ministry gossip—plentiful even in the Department of Magical Games and Sports—to know how this worked. Riddle was happy to entice people to his side this way. Make it seem like he cared about them and was interested in _their _interests, and people seemed to fall over like piles of cards for it.

That was one reason Harry had chosen to concentrate on Quidditch the way he had. He was absolutely certain that Riddle would never overcome his disdain enough to chatter at Harry about it.

“How can I maintain a good rapport with my bodyguard when he doesn’t talk to me?” Riddle’s voice was low, but less teasing than before, as they came into the entrance hall.

“Oh, I’m more of the strong silent type.”

Riddle laughed. Harry turned to stare at him, ignoring the way that students passing up and down the corridors stared at them in return. Some people were whispering, and the name “Riddle” was prominent there. The stone-faced Aurors walking behind them stared straight ahead.

It was still less remarkable than the way Riddle had laughed. Harry found himself eyeing the man suspiciously, and Riddle smiled at him like a fox.

“What was the purpose of saying that, if not to amuse me?”

“To put you off,” Harry said, too unbalanced not to be honest.

He could have lived with the flickers that produced in the faces of the Aurors around him, but Riddle had the gall to give him a much more slow and thoughtful smile. “You continue to do this even though your position has been discovered and we are actually hear to make you take honest exams,” he murmured to Harry, his voice low and unpleasantly—something. “Is it force of habit? Or do you truly believe you can make me lose interest in you now?”

“Minister Riddle.”

There was only one person that could be, who would say the title in that freezing tone of voice, and Harry happily grabbed hold of the implied permission to back the hell away from Riddle. He smiled up at Professor Dumbledore as the man descended a few steps. Yes, he had done something Harry would have to think about the morality of, but at least Harry knew it wasn’t _personal._ Dumbledore had had no idea he was there. “Hello, sir.”

Dumbledore’s somewhat pale face warmed a little at the sight of him. “Hello, dear boy.”

“Of course you would be close,” Riddle said, standing to the side of the bottom step where he could watch everyone. “The former Head of Gryffindor House, and the child of two of the most prominent Order members…it makes sense.”

“Now, Tom,” Headmaster Dumbledore said, without batting an eye. “No one has ever proven that I know a thing about the whereabouts of James and Lily Potter. Or Sirius Black, for that matter.”

Harry hid a grin. It was true. The Order had used the magic of its bonded members, like his parents, to open a portal to another world where they could live in peace, and the only ones who knew anything about the location of the portal or what lay on the other side were the ones who had opened it.

“I shall remember this.”

Harry ignored Riddle and took a few steps up to talk to Dumbledore. Riddle probably meant to be threatening, assuring Harry that he would remember him laughing at Dumbledore’s jokes and the like. But that only showed how insecure he really was, how every little gesture of someone not completely subordinated to him was a threat to his power. He was probably jealous.

_Such a weakling, really, in soul. Fate was mad to pair me with him._

*

Tom watched closely as Harry engaged with Albus, his face open and his voice light and teasing. Albus said something that Tom couldn’t hear, behind them as he was. Harry laughed aloud and shook his hair back as he answered it, his words audible for a moment.

“Nothing that I couldn’t handle, sir.”

The openness and the unfeigned respect supported Tom’s suspicions. Albus had known the true extent of Harry’s power, and had placed him as a mole in the Ministry, had probably been one of his mentors as well. Somehow, he had won the loyalty of a powerful wizard without really trying.

Tom shook his head. No, he knew the tactics that Albus had chosen, and he even used them himself, at times, on people who had come to him young enough, or those who were related to his loyalists. The one difference between those people he bent to his will and Harry was the amount of power.

Powerful wizards were _meant _to strike off on their own and do what they wanted to. The ones who became powerful only because of fulfilled soul-bonds were different. They functioned as a unit, and they were prone to following the leaders they already respected, because they couldn’t imagine the necessity of standing alone.

But Harry had no soulmate, and he had ridiculous levels of magical strength. Tom wondered what particular arguments Albus had chosen to convince him.

“Ah, here we are. The testing room.”

Tom exchanged a cool smile with Minerva McGonagall as she came forwards with a sheaf of parchment that must be the Transfiguration NEWT. He had never much liked her, but on the other hand, she had been a good Head of the Transfiguration Department since he had begun to expand the school, and she knew her subject matter. So did Peter Pettigrew, behind her, who had the parchment for the Transfiguration OWL.

“The procedure is irregular, of course,” Albus was saying, with the same irritating cheer that he used to discuss everything, including why he thought it unlikely that Tom would find his soulmate. “We will be conducting abbreviated versions of the exams, which would otherwise take too much time, and relying mostly on the practical.”

Harry jerked to a stop and lifted his head like a wolf. Tom admired the line of his throat. He had slept with enough other people to make it good for his soulmate when he found them, and Harry was handsome.

Especially when he was taken unawares.

“What?” Harry asked slowly. “But I thought the largest portion of the mark came from the written portion of the exam.”

“Well, of course, there are exams that consist entirely of a practical portion, such as the one for the Apparition license,” Tom said. Harry turned to face him, his eyes full of that banked fire that Tom couldn’t get enough of. “Given that precedent, and the fact that you achieved such a low mark last time, I think it highly probable that you get anxious on written exams. Aren’t I right, Mr. Potter? So we decided to cut the written portion back and concentrate on the practical one, to give you a fair chance to show what you can do.”

Harry looked as if he was going to snarl. Tom might have wanted him to do it if they were alone. As it was, they had an audience, and Tom smiled pleasantly and with visible concern, and Harry had to choke back what he wanted to say or risk looking strange and ungrateful.

“Thank you, Minister Riddle,” Harry wrestled himself into enough submission to say. His eyes kept blazing, and Tom smiled himself, in what the others would probably take as graciousness, but what _they _would both know as delight. He wanted to always be able to see Harry’s eyes and face when they spoke. “I—I don’t have anxiety about written tests, though. I understand the effort you’ve gone through to let me retake the exams, and I don’t want to ask people to rewrite the questions, but could we shift the balance of the mark? So that most of it comes from the written portion instead? I just don’t want anyone to say that I had an unfair advantage.”

He had tried, Tom would give him that. It made Tom more inclined to be truly gracious, given the amount of entertainment he was getting out of this.

“Now, Mr. Potter,” he said, “I think that the question of unfair advantage is rather out the window here, given the _circumstances _that led to this. Wouldn’t you agree? That you are able to retake the exams at all is an allowance on the Ministry’s part.”

_Rather than ending in a cell as an Order spy. _But the best part of the dynamic between him and Harry was that he hardly needed to say it. Harry only jerked his head briefly, like a horse testing the pull of the reins.

Then he turned to Minerva and Pettigrew. “Of course,” he said. “Forgive me, professors. It’s just a little nerve-wracking, knowing I have to do this all again when most people get it out of the way when they’re teenagers.”

“If you had been honest about your skill the first time, Mr. Potter,” said Minerva as she laid down the parchments in front of her, “then you wouldn’t be in this position. We are glad that Minister Riddle did see that your innate talent should give you another chance.”

*

_Oh, yeah, so fucking lucky._

Harry had been planning to eke out an Acceptable again, because the written portion was always so much easier to fake than the practical one. Sure, he’d made it work the first time around with the Wizarding Examination Authority, but they hadn’t been _expecting _anything of him and they weren’t his regular professors. That meant they really had no idea what he would be doing or should be doing when it came to classwork.

Now, confronted with professors who had known and Riddle, who expected it, Harry could feel sweat gathering under his hairline. This was going to be _so _much harder.

But then he shook his head and settled down in front of the written portion. So what if Riddle thought he was powerful? Riddle _already _thought he was powerful. Harry was still keeping the most important secret, the one etched on his wrist.

And he had put up with the disappointment of his professors already, when he’d got an Acceptable on both OWL and NEWT. This wouldn’t be anything new.

He picked up his quill, and Riddle abruptly stepped forwards and said, “If you would excuse us for a moment, professors? I have something I would like to talk with Mr. Potter about.”

“Of course,” said Professor McGonagall immediately, and stepped back. Peter moved with her, his eyes fixed on Harry, an odd, undefinable yearning in them. Harry ignored the way that made his back bristle. He had never been sure if Peter was trustworthy or not. His parents seemed to think different ways, and trade positions pretty often.

“Surely nothing you say can be a surprise to me, Tom,” said Dumbledore, with a friendly smile.

Riddle smiled back at him without showing any teeth and raised a complicated privacy charm around them with a single turn of his wrist. Dumbledore did nothing but fold his hands behind his back and look out the nearest window, humming a little tune. Harry sighed in helpless admiration. He wished he was that _strong_. Magical power had nothing to do with being able to keep your temper under circumstances like this.

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry started and turned to Riddle. Now his smile had teeth, but it looked strained. Harry wondered what _he _had to feel that way about when he was in control of every variable here.

“Yes, sir?” he asked. He worked to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

“I am sure that you know the conversation we had the other day, about possibly ensuring that your parents and godfather were pardoned for their crimes, is conditional. This is one of the conditions.”

Harry stared at him. _Doing well on the exams—what? _Riddle continued to surprise him, but he also reminded Harry more and more of what Dumbledore had said about the man. No one who played the kinds of games he did could possibly be sane, it involved so much changing of one’s mind and tricky balancing.

That remained true, Harry thought, even if Riddle was playing a different kind of game than the Order believed.

“Conditional on you doing well on these exams, Mr. Potter. Do you understand me?”

Riddle even sounded irritated at having to state it out loud, which caused sickness to churn in Harry’s belly. What had happened to the man who rejoiced in being smarter than anyone else? The evidence that Harry was so dim should have cheered him up.

“I always assumed it was conditional, sir. To the point that I don’t think it will happen.”

Riddle blinked. Once, twice, several times. Harry wished there could be someone to witness this rare sight, but Dumbledore was still looking out the window and the other professors were chatting quietly about something, faces averted.

“You distrust me with a fervor I have not encountered in some time, Mr. Potter,” Riddle said finally.

“You don’t keep your promises to people like me,” Harry told him. “Someone who has power or can trade favors with you? Of course. Not people like me, the son and godson of fugitives and someone who lied to you.”

“But you _have _power.”

Harry sighed in disgust. “Not much compared to you, or even to some of your followers who have those fourfold soul-bonds. I wish I could ask you just what you wanted of me, Riddle, but I suppose that you wouldn’t answer me honestly.” He turned and sat down at the desk behind the parchments again.

“Magical power can be stronger in many cases than political favors or money. So can the power of my having my good will.”

Harry said nothing and continued to work. Riddle clucked his tongue and ended the privacy charm, stepping away.

Harry supposed that he couldn’t completely throw the exams the way he’d intended. But he would make sure that he only got an Exceeds Expectations or something like that. Whatever goal Riddle intended to prove with these tests, Harry wasn’t going to let him have it.

The exams themselves might not be important, but Harry thought he knew why Riddle was treating them that way. This was a test, of Harry’s obedience and his openness to persuasion. Do well on them, and Riddle would pile on the praise, the enticements.

_Time to show him I can’t be corrupted that way._

*

“You’re remarkable, Mr. Potter.”

For some reason, Harry’s shoulders went up around his ears when Tom said that. He continued to walk briskly towards the Apparition point outside the gates of Hogwarts. Tom kept pace with him, studying his profile.

Harry’s responses made sense for someone who had been trained to be a spy and a member of the Order of the Phoenix for a long time—trained to distrust him. But something was still off, Tom was certain. Spies could bask in praise. It might even have been wise for Harry to do so, now that Tom had figured him out. If Tom was trying to lure him in, he might do the same thing, and bolt with important information once Tom lowered his guard around him.

Harry, though, acted as though notice and praise and the gift of being able to take his exams over again and move up in the Ministry were thorns instead of roses. Punishments instead of opportunities. Tom couldn’t figure out how that served the Order’s mission, either before or after he had spotted what Harry was up to.

_What are you hiding, Harry Potter?_

Unfortunately, Tom could think of too many things, given that this was the Order of the Phoenix they were talking about. It jangled his nerves, not to be able to divine more about someone who had belonged to the most unsubtle House in Hogwarts and revealed himself in such an unsubtle manner.

So he moved on to another tactic he hadn’t planned to use until Harry trusted him more. “You know, you don’t need to listen only to them,” he said softly.

“Apparently I do, since you put them in charge of reporting my exam results.”

“I wasn’t talking about the professors. I was talking about the people who’ve indoctrinated you since you’ve been young.”

“I know. It’s so sad that you never got the chance.”

Tom slowly lifted his head. “Mr. Potter, you are treading on my nerves.”

Harry gave him a smile as brilliant as the phoenix on his arm. “Only treading? I thought I would have reached the point of jumping up and down on them by now.”

“You know that I have spared you only because of your—interesting background and magical strength. Do you _want _to be in a cell?”

“I don’t want to be threatened. And you can’t threaten me one moment and then act hurt that I mistrust you the next. What am I supposed to do? Believe half of what you say?”

_Of course, _Tom wanted to say. _The right half. _Then again, he didn’t usually deal with people like Harry. They were either loyal, they understood how the political game was played and what words to listen to, or they were utter enemies like Albus and there was no point in trying to charm or compromise with them anyway.

_Perhaps that means there is no point in trying to charm Harry._

But Tom would still like to have Harry on his side in truth. It might be partially a point of pride in winning one of the Order’s assets away from them, but Tom was not used to denying himself small things he wanted. He had been denied the great thing—his soulmate—and saw that as enough sacrifice and privation.

“I have something I want you to see when we return to the office, Mr. Potter.”

“Looking forward to it, sir,” Harry replied, with a flinty expression and smile.

_This should change his mind, _Tom thought, as he stepped a little ahead and let the bodyguard Aurors move in on him. _And I look forward to seeing what his expression is _then.

*

Harry looked around in wary interest. They had taken a lift in the Ministry he’d never seen before down to a floor he hadn’t known existed. Now they walked through what seemed to be constantly shifting shadows—although Harry couldn’t find the light source that made them shift—and the floor beneath their feet was gleaming black marble.

“This way, Mr. Potter.”

Riddle was holding open a door that had the proper black dungeon look, made of heavy ebony and carved with sneering gargoyle faces. Harry stepped past him and found himself confronting a chaos of broken pieces of wood and glass. He blinked. On the floor lay sand that was scattered around as if a giant child had been playing here.

“What’s this?” Harry asked, because Riddle had shut the door behind them and was standing there in silence. He was close enough that Harry could pick up the faint smell of some kind of expensive shampoo. He longed to turn around and hit the bastard in the throat.

Not that he could. Riddle had taken his wand without a word when they’d got on the lift.

“The reason why your friends were going to be arrested, Mr. Potter.”

Harry blinked again. Riddle had to be talking about Ron and Hermione, and this had to be the Department of Mysteries. But that still didn’t say anything about why this room had been left to look like a rubbish tip. “What are you claiming they did?”

“Broke into a room that contained important research on time and smashed everything they could get their hands on.” Riddle nodded at the sand spilled on the floor. “This was once contained in Time-Turners, and powerful devices that were meant to mimic them but allow further trips back in time. Did you know that two of the Unspeakable conducting research have been missing since your friends did that? We think they might be trapped in another time, or even a frozen moment of it, but since Miss Granger thoroughly burned all the notes and set a spell that destroyed all existing copies, we can’t be sure.”

“I—” Harry’s throat was thick and dry. All he had ever heard was that Ron and Hermione had broken into the Department of Mysteries looking to stop some of Riddle’s more dangerous research. What their mission had _been_, he hadn’t known. Professor Dumbledore hadn’t thought it wise to pass on that information in case Riddle did notice Harry and used Legilimency on him.

“They destroyed lives,” Riddle said. “They killed two people on their way out, did you know? When they cast a spell to destabilize the walls and, I assume, make the Unspeakables stop following them, and the walls collapsed.”

“They didn’t mean to,” Harry whispered. Murder horrified both Ron and Hermione. It was why they had been willing to join the Order in the first place and stop the imminent genocide Riddle was going to practice on Muggleborns and Muggles.

The genocide he might not be planning after all.

_But he’s still researching ways to wipe people’s minds, and the rest of it, _Harry reminded himself hastily. He lifted his head. “Perhaps that’s the kind of risk you take when you do dangerous research for the government—”

“It was hardly _dangerous, _you fool.” Riddle’s voice was, though, when he hit a note that low.

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have used successful time travel to go back and change things so that Professor Dumbledore never became Headmaster, or you won the war,” Harry spat, turning around to face his damned soulmate. “Of course it was—”

“Only your ignorance of the extreme theoretical _unlikeliness _of what you’re claiming is allowing me to be patient with you right now.” Riddle stepped close, breathing into his face and looming over him. Harry glared back. “It was research, plain and simple. Dangerous only in the same way that all the devices Unspeakables work with are dangerous. Your friends killed two people and caused the disappearance of two more, not to mention set back the cause of magical theoretical progress by a decade. They deserved their fate.”

“They don’t deserve to be on the run for the rest of their lives!”

“They would have endured perhaps three years in Azkaban if they had simply surrendered when told to,” Riddle said. “That was _before _they did anything that hurt someone or caused a disappearance. But no, they had to remain free to fight ‘the war,’ and so they acted.”

Harry closed his eyes and said nothing. The stillness of the room all around him, the chaos and destruction, did make the Order look like terrorists, he knew.

But this was still _Ron and Hermione _they were talking about, friends he had had since his first night in Gryffindor, people who were on the same side as he was. He couldn’t betray them.

“Let us go,” Riddle said, voice as cold as iron. He turned and stalked out of the room.

Harry followed him, trying to work up some gloating in his own mind. _Not impressed that your little plan didn’t impress me, huh?_

But the sight of the room remained seared in the back of his mind, the silence that might be filled with the silent screams of trapped victims in another time.


	5. Messages

“Hey, boy. How are you?” Harry knelt down and ruffled Sirius’s ears as the big black dog bounced up and down in front of him, barking.

The people who were passing him on the street gave Harry sideways glances, but said nothing. They had got used to the way that he had adopted the “stray” dog several years ago now. Given that only people in the Order had ever known about Sirius’s Animagus talent, it was unlikely that anyone would guess what he was actually doing.

“Mr. Potter, we should be packing up,” called Auror Yelson down the stairs that led up to Harry’s flat. He was the leader of the Aurors that Riddle had assigned to come to Harry’s home and “help him move.” “Do you want someone to find a crate for that dog? Or do you have one?”

“He likes to wander around,” Harry said. “If he wants to come with me, then he’ll find me at my new place. It’s not that far from the Ministry on the left side of Diagon Alley, after all.”

Yelson sighed and went back to floating books into a trunk with a wave of his wand. Harry felt Sirius bury his head against his chest, and ruffled his godfather’s ears. “Be good, boy,” he whispered. Then he concentrated, and his voice moved inside his head. _What did you want to tell me?_

Sirius’s tail wagged, once, and he gave a theatrical-sounding woof as he stood up on his back legs and pawed at Harry’s shoulders for a second. His voice came back, a soft thrum. This was a talent that nobody had known he had until it manifested after Sirius went on the run, maybe because he was so desperate to find a way to communicate with Harry and James. _Mainly we wanted to be sure that you were all right, but we wanted you to know that Dumbledore did set up that assassination attempt. He had no idea you were there, though._

Harry sighed and ruffled Sirius’s ears again. _I know that. I don’t blame him._

Sirius nuzzled closer, and his physical voice came out as a high whine, while his mental one stuttered. _I—I also need to tell you that Lily and James contributed spells to that assault. And so did I. The kind that Albus stored and took away in vials. _

Harry swallowed slowly. He’d suspected that, and there was no reason for the long, slow feeling like a pendulum swinging back and forth in his chest.

He was young, compared to them. He had always lived a life half in shadow, given whose mark he had been born to carry on his wrist. He couldn’t know exactly what had gone through their heads.

If they had thought that what Dumbledore did was right, and Harry disagreed with them…did he only do that because he’d been in the building and was letting his personal safety and sense of outrage overrule good arguments?

There was no answer in his mind, only the sensation like the pendulum swinging.

_Harry? _Sirius lifted his head and licked Harry’s face, which didn’t make him appreciate the slimy feeling of drool running down his cheek, but did shock him out of the half-frozen trance that he’d been locked in.

“None of that, boy,” Harry murmured. _I forgive you. I know you didn’t endanger my life on purpose._

Sirius crowded closer. Harry stroked his fur down his back, and Sirius gave a happy little whuffling sound. Harry had to smile. It was probably weird to relate to his godfather like this, but on the other hand, Harry had been used to Sirius appearing as a dog and the ways that he liked to be petted since he was a kid.

_I want to ask one thing, _he said abruptly, the thought of the room Riddle had shown him in the Department of Mysteries burning in his head. _Just to make sure that Riddle can’t use my friends against me. Ron and Hermione killed people when they broke into the Department of Mysteries?_

_They didn’t want to, _Sirius said, and took the chance to sneak in another lick down Harry’s cheek. _They had to do something to make the Unspeakables stop pursuing them, and unfortunately the tactic they chose brought the roof down._

Harry nodded and bade Sirius farewell after that. Yelson was already telling him to come upstairs so that he could choose which clothes to take, the heavy implication being that they weren’t going to take all of them.

Sirius bounded off, and no one indicated to Harry that they realized he had been speaking with a human being in dog form instead of just a dog. One of the Aurors did raise her wand with an offer to Stun Harry’s disobedient dog and bring him back that way, but Harry just shook his head and said, “He’ll find me when he needs me.”

Most of his being, even as he chose the robes and shirts and mechanically defended his jeans against Yelson’s desire to burn them, was occupied with an uncomfortable thought.

Riddle _meant _to kill people. It was obvious enough if you studied his voting record the way Harry had done. Ron and Hermione hadn’t meant to. Dumbledore had, but not people he thought of as innocent, the way Harry had been.

What was worse, to announce that you meant to kill someone and then do it, or to kill someone in violation of your stated principles?

*

“What’s wrong, Harry? You are very quiet.”

Harry glanced at Tom once and then turned away, stacking his books on a shelf in the new flat Tom had found for him. So far, he hadn’t spoken a word of gratitude for that. The shelves were wide and deep, the windows enchanted to always show sunshine, and the bedroom so big that Harry’s bed looked rather pathetic in it. Then again, with the wages he would soon draw from the Ministry, he ought to be able to buy any furniture he liked.

“Did you not hear my question?” Tom added, when about five minutes had passed and Harry hadn’t said anything. “I expect some expression of acknowledgment.”

Harry nodded. Tom narrowed his eyes when nothing followed that except Harry desultorily rearranging his books on the shelf.

“Well?”

“I nodded to acknowledge that I’d heard.” Harry’s voice was flat, uninterested, not even challenging. That was what made Tom start to boil beneath his skin. He caught Whipwood’s eye and jerked his head sideways.

Whipwood frowned at Harry and then at him. “Are you sure, sir?” she asked, not bothering to lower her voice. “He could be very dangerous.”

“Totally,” Harry said, picking up a book and then dropping it again. “Very dangerous. You should stay here and protect the Minister from my might.”

Tom caught Whipwood’s eye before she could launch into the diatribe that he knew her opening mouth signified. “I am sure, Jalena,” he said, and the Aurors all knew what it meant when he used their names like that. “If you would?”

Finally, she nodded and all the other Aurors filed out, although Whipwood went last and kept looking back as though she expected him to countermand his orders. Tom did not, and Whipwood finally sighed loudly and let the door bang shut behind her.

“Now that we are alone,” Tom said, and he wasn’t above lowering his voice on those words, “will not tell me what is troubling you?”

Harry jerked a little, as if fighting conflicting impulses, and stared at the shelf in front of him. Tom moved around to the side. Harry’s face had gone almost blank—a disconcerting sight when he was usually so open—but his lower lip twitched. He saw Tom noticing it and got it under control.

“You’ve upended my life over the last few days, implied I was lying on my exams and made me take them again—”

“You were lying,” Tom interrupted in a pleasant tone. The Wizarding Examination Authority had put up a kind of squeaky fight over marking one set of exams out of season, but Tom had reminded them at whose pleasure they served and they had quieted down quickly enough. “Did you know that you have an Outstanding on six of the subjects you retested on? Placing more of the weight on the practical portions did show us what you can do.”

Harry hunched his shoulders. Tom wanted to shake his head. Praise was a blow, personal attention from the Minister was undesirable, and invitations to explain himself resulted in silence. What kind of twisted ideas _had _the Order of the Phoenix fed Harry? Did he think he could go back to being a spy when Tom never intended to let him go?

“That’s nice,” Harry finally said.

“I know you don’t believe it of me,” Tom said in a low, coaxing tone, moving no nearer, “but my desire is to _help _you, Harry. You have great potential. I don’t want to convert you all at once, but I want you to understand my policy choices and my voting record, and give you the choice that your parents never did.”

Harry curled his lip, which was helpful insofar as it told Tom that his parents were on his mind, but nothing more. Harry’s hands were steady as he moved from the bookshelves to the framed photographs, which occupied only one box. Tom watched as he set up a picture of himself standing next to a red-haired boy and a girl with too much hair.

“They are your exiled friends?” Tom asked. “Weasley and Granger?” He did remember that the Weasleys were all ginger.

“Yes.”

Harry went on putting up pictures. One was of him in his Gryffindor robes, standing in front of Headmaster Dumbledore and smiling with a scroll in one hand. There was also a medal pinned to the front of his robes. Tom squinted. “I don’t recognize that particular honor.”

“Excellence in Quidditch.”

“Of course,” Tom drawled. “It’s amazing that you didn’t get the brains knocked out of your head by the Bludgers.”

“You know I played Seeker?”

“I did revise your records when I looked up your exam results, Harry. And I want to help you if you’ll let me.”

That got him a twitch of a shoulder and nothing else. The pictures continued to go up. Some of them showed a much younger Harry with his arm around a man who resembled Regulus Black, and a handsome couple cradling him close. Tom stepped particularly close to a photograph that showed Lily Potter with Harry. From the way Harry glanced at Tom, he wanted to object, but didn’t want to break his silence even more.

Lily Potter had remarkable eyes. Harry had clearly inherited them. Tom preferred to say nothing about that, though. Harry had probably heard the remark enough to tire of it. “No pictures of you with someone you dated?” he asked instead.

That got him a _massive _twitch, but Tom’s sense of victory was diluted by the fact that he had no idea what made that question more personal than the others. “Call me old-fashioned,” Harry said. “I don’t want to date anyone other than my soulmate.”

“And you don’t have any idea who they are?” Tom asked. It was unusual for someone to remain mateless as long as Harry had, unless circumstances like Tom’s own intervened.

“Oh, I know.”

Tom waited, but Harry had retreated into that maddening silence. Now he seemed to be involved in straightening the pictures so that all of them faced the same direction, out into the room. Tom studied the angle of sight from the photographs. Harry had put a chair in front of the fire, so he would see all of the people he treasured and he could talk to them.

Tom continued, because the subtle art of conversation was obviously lost on Harry. “And what happened? Did they find someone else they wanted to love more?” It happened rarely, considering the prestige granted to soulmates in their society and the possibility of fourfold bonds, but humans were unpredictable.

“No. I discovered that my soulmate would never accept me.”

Tom blinked. He concentrated most of the time he was around Harry now, bringing his passive Legilimency to bear on every statement Harry uttered. That hadn’t been a lie. Neither was the clear bitterness behind it. “But why not? Do they understand your power? That you have the chance to be high up in the government?”

Harry lowered his head to rest against the fireplace mantel for a moment. His shoulders shook. Tom raised an eyebrow. Sobs or laughter? And would he ever understand this deeply confusing man?

“The power would matter to them,” Harry admitted, drawing back. “But—they would never accept me because of my blood. Because of my beliefs. I won’t lower myself to begging a blood purist and someone who believes in everything your Ministry does for acceptance.”

Tom stared at him. Soulmates usually shared deep beliefs. Magic, it was generally accepted, knew what it was doing when it entwined two souls. “That—is something you should perhaps discuss with your soulmate, Harry. Beliefs can change. And blood matters less to many of us in the government than you would think.”

“I still don’t want to pretend to be someone other than I am.”

“But why not? I think you rather excellent at it,” Tom said, and knew that his words had hit home when he saw the crimson staining Harry’s cheeks.

“I’m so flattered that you think highly of me, sir.”

And the conversation died there. Tom made other observations and asked other questions, but they won no response. Harry spoke respectfully to him as far as using a title, and never said anything that sounded like rebellion, but Tom still had to resist the impulse to slam the door of the new flat when he strode out.

He thought Harry was intelligent, but Harry refused every effort Tom made to promote his rise or offer him advantages. He thought Harry was powerful, but the man acted as though no one knew it even now and things would go back to the past if he simply acted that way long enough. Harry must want his soulmate, as most people did, but utterly refused to compromise principles that Tom thought his soulmate would be all too willing to bend.

_What a bundle of contradictions he is. _

Tom shut the door of his office behind him when he reached it, and settled down to study Lily and James Potter’s files. It was still possible that he could reverse their banishment.

Given certain concessions from Harry, of course. And he would ignore the small part of him that wanted those concessions (absurdly) to be freely given.

*

Harry wrapped his arms around his stomach and closed his eyes. Everything in his mind hurt.

Sirius and his parents had nearly participated in killing him.

They hadn’t _actually _killed him. Or anyone else. They hadn’t known what Dumbledore planned to do with those stored spells. But they had gone along with it and hadn’t asked enough questions.

And the plan would have succeeded if not for the chance of Harry being there.

Harry felt like a traitor and the betrayed one all at once. The problem was, he really wanted to _talk _with his parents and not communicate in a limited way through Sirius, but any movement of a Patronus would be noted, he knew now. And Riddle had left Aurors to watch over him.

Harry stood and moved in front of one of the enchanted windows, just to check. Sure enough, a shadow flickered to follow him, an Auror in the shade of a nearby shop turning to study the front of his flat. Harry exhaled and went back to his chair to sit down, staring at his obliviously smiling and waving family members and friends.

He wanted so badly to come up with a solution. He wanted to turn back time, with the research that Ron and Hermione had destroyed, and just make himself a useful spy for the Order and leave Riddle in ignorance of his existence.

He wished that Riddle was the kind of man Harry could have accepted for his soulmate.

Harry raised his hand and rubbed the mark on his wrist. For a moment, the black letters showed clearly through the tattoo of the shackles, the part nobody ever touched because they were so focused on the enormous phoenix. Harry held his wrist as if that would make things better, then sighed and dropped it. No, it wouldn’t make things better.

And neither would sitting here and wishing that he lived in a different world.

If it came down to it, he still had to choose the side he had been raised with. Of course he hadn’t had as many years with his parents and godfather as he should have, but whose fault was _that_? Not theirs.

And yes, they had created a spell that had endangered people, but both his parents and other members of the Order had explained over and over again how little Harry knew. He _had _to know little, for his own protection and that of other people. There were probably justifications, arguments, that made sense of everything that he was missing.

_Am I the sort of person who gets my head turned by pretty words from an arsehole?_

No, he wasn’t. Harry knew he must have flaws in his own soul, given that magic or fate or whatever had paired him with that kind of arsehole, but he could fight back against it, make his own sacrifice for the cause.

In the end, not having his soulmate, when his soulmate was such a berk, was nothing like the exile the Order members had endured.

Not content, but settled enough to eat something, Harry stood up and went to investigate the enormous kitchen he hadn’t wanted.

*

Peter slowly opened the letter that had arrived for him earlier that evening. He hadn’t recognized the owl that brought it, but he had sensed, before he ever touched the envelope, what it would contain.

Yes. This was Harry’s handwriting, made unforgettable by dozens of essays in the three years Peter had taught him.

_I know you can’t do anything about the results of the exams, because Riddle has them already, but I would appreciate it if you would keep your mouth shut in case the Aurors come and question you about anything else. Especially what happened in third year._

Peter sighed and set the letter on the edge of his desk, then sat back, studying it. The fire was burning low on his hearth. Neatly-marked stacks of essays occupied the two chairs on the other side of his desk. Peter absently rubbed the black-edged soul-mark on his right arm—a burning sword—and picked up the tumbler of Firewhisky he’d been drinking before the letter arrived.

Third year…

Harry’s third year had been eleven years ago, but Peter still remembered it as clearly as the light reflecting through the glass he held.

*

“Now, I can’t promise that all of you will achieve what I’m about to teach you today.” Peter smiled as he watched a few faces fall. This mixed Gryffindor-Ravenclaw class was among his favorites to teach. The Ravenclaws’ academic intensity balanced the Gryffindor enthusiasm.

“It won’t be your fault,” Peter added. “This is such a difficult exercise that most people won’t be able to master it in their lifetimes. Yes, Miss Granger?”

“Then why teach it to third-years, sir?” Granger asked, as her hand bobbed back down to her side again. “Why not wait until later?”

“Because this is one way of detecting extraordinary talent early,” Peter said. “If you are one of those who are able to master the Animagus transformation, I want to know, so that I can help you and alert Professor McGonagall to give you some extra training.”

Miss Granger’s face grew as intent as a Ravenclaw’s, and Peter nodded at her. He didn’t know for sure if she was one of the people who would see a future animal form today, but he knew she would try.

He waved his wand, and a sphere made of faceted green glass appeared on the tables in front of each student. The Ravenclaws stirred, and Terry Boot muttered something that sounded like, “We’re doing _Divination_?”

“In a way,” Peter said. He used the calm tone that had taken him years to master, but shut his students up instantly. “You’ll speak the incantation I give you _without _moving your wand. Then you’ll meditate on the glass and attempt to draw a glimpse of the form to the surface.”

“How can we know that we’re seeing what’s there instead of a reflection or just what we want to see, sir?”

Peter glanced thoughtfully at Harry Potter, who had his arms folded across his chest as if he thought that he would have lock out the image of a dog or a stag. “An excellent question, Mr. Potter. And it can be hard to tell. I will say that the true image will be accompanied by an intense emotional sensation. It’s difficult to describe, but nearly-impossible to mistake for anything else.”

Harry nodded after a moment. As Peter taught them the incantation, he made a silent bet with himself that Harry would see a stag. He was closer to James than to Sirius, after all, given that Sirius had fled into exile two years before.

But when he worked his way around to Harry’s crystal globe, Harry was shivering and staring in front of him. Peter bent over to see it. He had cast another incantation, wordlessly, at the beginning of the class that would enable him to see the students’ projections. He would be the only one besides the individual student who could. He had developed such spells early on in his career; it let him reassure troubled or embarrassed students that their Animagus forms were still a sign of talent, no matter how small or unexpected.

He gasped. The green-glowing reflection in Harry’s crystal ball was a _snake_. A boomslang, if Peter was correct.

He turned to Harry in wonder, and stopped when he saw the look of absolute dread on his face. “It’s all right,” Peter murmured. He was about to reassure Harry that just because his Animagus form was a serpent, he didn’t have to be upset—that the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin had no place here—but Harry interrupted him.

“I don’t want you to tell _him_,” Harry said at once. “Can you keep it secret?” His eyes were piercing, greener than the crystal ball, and Peter felt judged and held as he only ever had under Albus’s gaze.

Peter hesitated a long moment. Most Animagus forms were mammals, which made sense because humans were mammals as well. The next most common were birds. Transfiguration theorists held that, although birds were only distantly related to humans, they were also only distantly related to their reptilian ancestors, and many wizards’ desire to fly could overpower that distance.

Reptiles were the third most common, so not as rare as an insectile form, which might only come along once in a generation. But serpents were the rarest of the reptiles, probably because of their lack of limbs and many wizards’ wariness of them.

More to the point, Minister Riddle required Transfiguration professors at Hogwarts or private tutors to report any child who foresaw that they would have a serpent form, so they could start training early. They were inducted, often the moment they left school, into Riddle’s Serpent Guard, protecting important people and artifacts in the Ministry and throughout the British Isles.

“You would be treasured,” Peter began.

Harry gave the bleakest laugh Peter had ever heard, one which made a few of the concentrating students glare at him. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” he murmured, and then met Peter’s gaze.

Under that waterfall of desperation, Peter could only nod. Harry slumped back, and told his friends later, when they asked, that he had seen a murky cloud and had tried too hard to force it into the shape he wanted, leaving him with a headache. Supposedly Peter had been trying to reassure him his parents would still value him.

Peter had wondered, often, since that day, if he should have agreed. But the sight of Harry’s eyes returned to him each time, and he had to be sure he had made the right decision.

*

Now, though, with Harry’s letter in front of him…

Peter wrote a quick response. _I will not volunteer anything I learned in the past. But if they require me to participate in a test to see if you have an Animagus form, I won’t hide it. You deserve to have your talents recognized and nurtured, Harry._

Peter shook his head as he stood up with the letter in his hand. He wished he _had _managed to convince Harry otherwise all those years ago. He might have made his own life, without being in the shadow of his godfather—exiled thirteen years ago—or his parents—exiled nine. How long, Peter had to wonder, was Harry going to hide and pretend that he didn’t have some powerful magic or a rare Animagus form, just because it would be more convenient for the Order?

_Or is that all it is? _Now that he thought about it…Peter frowned. Harry’s magic and Animagus form _could _have been convenient for the Order. They could have placed a spy Riddle would never suspect closer to him than Harry had been in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and without the possibility of a disastrous revelation like the latest one. Harry’s desire to stay far away seemed to border on hysteria and have a different cause.

But in the end, despite running the ideas over in his mind, Peter had to admit he had no idea what the cause of that hysteria could be. He walked up to the Owlery and leaned on the cold stone as he watched the bird he had chosen wing away.

_I hope he doesn’t blame me too much, when all is said and done. I’m a teacher. Who doesn’t want to see their pupils learn and grow?_

*  
“Well, I hope you’re satisfied.”

Albus stared at the thick vial of white liquid he held, and swallowed roughly. “I have to be,” he whispered. “This is—not the kind of warfare I would have wished to conduct, but he’s proven that we can’t destroy him through conventional means.”

The figure resting swathed in thick black robes on the cot snorted hard enough to disturb the flickering flame of the candle nearest it. “You still haven’t proven that he needs to be destroyed at all. It’s not like he’s proclaimed himself a Dark Lord and gone on a genocidal rampage.”

Albus flushed, and turned further away so the redness on his cheeks would hopefully look to be from the fire. They were in a deep cave that even the candles and the flames lit poorly. There was a chance. “I handled the one who did that, too.”

The figure on the cot laughed. “And it took you so long to do it that he almost won.”

“Why do you think I want to move more strongly on this one?” Albus snapped, staring for a moment at his hands. “Getting the war stopped _before _it starts is the action that makes the most sense.”

“Whatever you say,” the figure muttered, and then slumped back and began to cough.

Albus sighed and reached for the vial of healing potion he’d brewed the day before. He was getting tired of collecting the same ingredients and making the same repetitive stirring motions, but it wasn’t as though he could entrust this to anyone else.

*

“I want you to destroy the dummies that are across the room from us.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tom frowned as he watched Harry take up his position at a designated line in the middle of the room, a thick one drawn on the floor with a Paint Charm. Gone was the man who had challenged him in his office and analyzed his voting record, but gone too was the boor who had spat crumbs all over himself at Tom’s Public Day. This version had hunched shoulders and blank eyes and watched the floor more than anything.

Tom knew the symptoms of the Imperius Curse, or he might have suspected that. Then again, the exam results in Defense indicated that Harry was strong enough of will to probably throw off the Unforgivable anyway.

_Perhaps this is simply his true personality, the one hiding under all the masks, _Tom theorized to himself as he watched Harry blow the dummies up with precisely-targeted and never-varying curses.

But Harry turned his head back towards Tom when he was done, and stood there, and Tom couldn’t believe it. Not when the lines of his body had been so defiant before, and were so slumped now. Not when his _eyes _looked so different.

Not when he had used such wonderful and beautiful spellcraft before—most of Tom’s Aurors had admitted that they would never try to catch falling rubble with fire—and used only regular Blasting Curses now.

Tom flicked his wand at the wall. With a sizzling sound, a barrier of white light sprang up between him and Harry and the rest of the room. From the corner of his eye, he saw the little attentive shudder Harry couldn’t hide, and smiled grimly.

“Duel with me,” he said, turning to face Harry.

The mask slipped. Defiance flickered at the edge of Harry’s eyes again, and then it was gone. Harry said in his flat voice, “I’d lose, sir.”

“So? Many, many people have lost a duel with me. You would have no special distinction.” Tom began a slow stalk that would take him around in a circle towards Harry, and Harry lost the battle against his instincts and began to move in the opposite half-crescent. Tom laughed in exhilaration. “Show me what you’re capable of.”

“I already have.”

Merlin, his eyes were on _fire_. He looked so angry that Tom couldn’t help casting a spell, the Whip Serpent, which coiled out of his wand and towards Harry in a complicated slithering motion that most people couldn’t anticipate the direction of.

Harry didn’t bother trying to anticipate it. He met it with the full power of his will, and the serpent exploded into sparks and light that danced in the air and then faded.

“You’re going to be so much fun,” Tom told him, and threw a barrage of missiles.

Harry darted forwards, accepting a multitude of small hits. Tom studied him, looking for the skin-tight shield he must wear, but couldn’t see it. Was he really just—

Harry was close enough now, though, and he cast a spell Tom had never seen before, one that appeared to add a long iron boot to his left foot. Then he spun on his right foot and kicked Tom in the solar plexus with his left one.

It really was made of iron, and Tom’s shields were meant to stop spells, not physical hits. He bent over, wheezing, and Harry nearly kicked him in the temple. Tom managed to flick his head aside at the last moment.

His Aurors were shouting and pounding on the barrier that separated them now. Harry grinned at him. “Shouldn’t we let your babysitters in?”

“I see no need to do that,” Tom rasped, and burst apart the floor underneath Harry. Harry was already climbing into the air, twirling at the end of an invisible rope and a modified Levitation Charm, and received nothing except a few nips on his legs from the wooden shrapnel.

After that, the spells were cast too rapidly for Tom to do anything but keep up. He’d known people who could match his speed, but none who could match his creativity, or anticipate what he was going to cast. Harry could do both. Fire met water, ice met fire, and Harry cast two or three other spells Tom had never seen. He was never less than willing to take a hit on his bicep, except when the curses were poisonous or disabling, like the Whip Snake. And he fought as if he was born to do nothing else.

Tom spun away from a red-edged throwing star made of pure magic and laughed in exultation. It was almost like—

Almost like he had imagined dueling his soulmate would be, if he ever found them.

His mood soured rapidly at the reminder, and he stepped back and raised a shield in front of him that would hold both physical spells and curses at bay, but also prevent him from casting out. Harry halted at once, panting, his hand clasped to his side where a stitch had probably started. He had recognized the spell, then, and the end of the duel that it signaled.

“Enough,” Tom said softly. He raised another spell that covered the barrier and cut off the sights and sounds of the furious Aurors. “Don’t think that you can hide from me again.”

Harry laughed aloud, tossing his sweat-soaked black hair back from his forehead. He was made of fire and wonder, alive and utterly beautiful. Tom’s eyes traced the line of a bead of sweat making its way down his cheek before Harry said, “What else have I been doing?”

Tom narrowed his eyes, but let the strange statement go. “_Now _I know what you are capable of. Where did you find the spell that added the iron boot to your foot?”

“Oh, I reckon it’s in one of those old books I read at Hogwarts.”

“Another way you tried to disguise yourself,” Tom said, and couldn’t help the purr that had entered his voice. “You wanted me to believe you were a Quidditch-obsessed Gryffindor. The Hat offered you Ravenclaw, too, didn’t it?”

Harry laughed abruptly as though someone had flipped a Muggle switch in him, and then cut it off with what looked like a wince. He shook his head. “No.”

“Ah, well.” Tom waited for a moment until Harry began to relax, and then stepped up close to him. Harry froze at once, hand on his wand and muscles ready to move in any direction.

_I know the Order didn’t train him to be a fighter. Which makes this all the more remarkable, really. It’s all his own ability. _Tom leaned in and spoke softly into Harry’s ear, pleased that the closeness or perhaps the warm breath on his earlobe made the young man tremble. “I know exactly how intelligent and powerful and skilled you are now. I can value you as you deserve.”

“You can never make up for exiling my parents or my godfather or—”

“You should know that I’ve submitted your parents’ cases to the Wizengamot for reconsideration.”

Tom was close enough to feel the fine tremor that made its way through Harry’s arm. But he still tossed his head back and said, “They won’t agree. And this is a bribe, and everyone will _know _that it’s a bribe.”

“In view of the assets that I’m about to acquire,” Tom said, letting his hand glance down Harry’s arm as he took a step back, “I doubt most people will care.”

He turned to dissolve the barrier and the charm that kept them from being seen or heard, and added over his shoulder, “_Don’t _hide from me again.”

Then the spells were down, and he had to answer the maddened questions of his Aurors. But it was more than worth it.

*

Harry stood there with his hands clenched and ignored the wary glances he could feel straying towards him. He was too consumed by temptation.

And shame. Less than twenty-four hours since he had mentally recommitted himself to the Order’s cause and he was already being led away from it.

_They were right not to trust me with secrets like what Ron and Hermione were doing. I’m weak. So weak. I can’t be trusted to make the right decision._

Harry opened his eyes and stared at Riddle’s back. The man apparently had the bloody mental ability to tell when he was being looked at, since he turned around and gave Harry a faint, sincere smile.

Harry turned away with a rough shake of his head. _Or it’s because the bastard’s my soulmate, and he’s always going to seem tempting to me when he wouldn’t to other people. I already spend too much time thinking about what he looks like, what he’s feeling._

_I’ve _got _to stop feeling this way. I have to._

Harry knew it wouldn’t be easy. But neither was staying hidden for twenty-four years, and he had managed that. He had even managed to shade the truth in his conversation with Riddle today, making him think spells that Harry had created himself were just present in obscure books.

_I’ll manage it. I’m weak, but I’m no traitor_.


	6. Pardons

“Do you really mean it, Albus?” Minerva was aware that she’d raised her voice and they were in front of the students, but on a day like this, she _did _hope that no one would ask her to lower it. This was too shocking, like a mild version of the pain she had experienced when her soulmate Elphinstone died. “Lily and James Potter are to be _pardoned_?”

“Yes.” Albus’s own face was pale as he spread out the paper in front of him on the staff table so that everyone could take a look. Then again, he _had _been brewing all those healing potions, Minerva thought, and perhaps the problem he was taking them for had got worse. “I—see for yourself.”

Minerva leaned over Albus’s shoulder to read the article, which was breathless and gushing the way it often was when Minister Riddle won a victory over the Wizengamot. Minerva didn’t approve of the cult of personality the man had built around himself, but she did have to admit that seeing him depress some pure-blood pretensions was good sport.

The photograph on the front of the paper showed Riddle standing in front of the Ministry, the official pardon held high in one hand. Beneath that was an old picture of Lily and James Potter, taken soon after their graduation from Hogwarts.

And beneath _that _was that recent picture of Harry Potter that had graced the front page after he had saved Minister Riddle and his retinue from death by falling building material. Minerva sniffed. “You think he did this as a gesture of gratitude to young Mr. Potter?”

“That,” said Albus, and lowered his voice. “Or as a bribe.”

“A bribe?” Minerva looked back and forth from the slightly scowling picture of Harry to Albus. “What are you talking about? To whom?”

“To Mr. Potter,” Albus said, but he shook his head when Minerva started to turn towards him. “Please, my dear, let’s not talk about it in public.”

Minerva let the conversation go, but she knew that she would resume it in private. She was disturbed, and not even obscurely, by Albus’s idea that Harry would be bribed by Riddle encouraging the Wizengamot to pardon his parents. _What _would Harry be bribed to do? And if he did have his parents back and free again, what exactly did Albus worry would happen?

None of it made sense, but it didn’t make sense in a way that rendered Minerva’s chest tight.

*

Harry moved dazedly through the corridors of the Ministry towards the Atrium. The official announcement of his parents’ pardons had already been made, and he’d told Riddle that was enough, but now there had to be another interview, for some reason. An interview that was coupled with a public invitation for his parents to come forwards and speak with him.

Harry knew better than to think they would. Hidden away in that portal to another world, they might not even have read the _Prophet _and heard about the pardons yet. But more than that, they still had uncomplicated loyalties to the Order and an uncomplicated distrust of the Minister.

Harry couldn’t claim that was true of him, anymore.

“Will you please cheer up?” Riddle said softly into his ear as they passed through the doors into the lift that would take them down to the Atrium. They were the only ones in it, to the visible distress of Riddle’s Aurors. A week ago, Harry would have found that funny. Now his gut churned. “This is supposed to be a joyous day for you.”

“A joyous day that you arranged for your own reasons. I don’t owe you anything.”

Riddle tried to take his wrist, but Harry moved away from him as much as the confines of the lift would allow. He didn’t want to be touched or confined right now. He did have to admit it would be funny if he managed to throw up on Riddle’s expensive shoes, but he didn’t have enough confidence to aim for them.

“You’re terrified.”

Harry glared at Riddle, who as usual had seen past the pretenses that he tried to put up in the most annoying way possible. “What do you want, a biscuit for guessing correctly?”

“Are you afraid of what they’ll say to you?” Riddle shook his head slowly. “You shouldn’t be. You’ve achieved more in a few weeks than they did with years on the run.”

“You have no idea what they were trying to achieve.”

“Yes, I do. The Order of the Phoenix wants me to soften or reverse my policies on a number of matters. And here you’ve managed it, making me pardon two criminals when I haven’t done that, ever, after they became fugitives. Congratulations, Harry. If they have any sense, they’ll come forwards and offer you the same words.”

_No, they’ll think of me as a traitor, _Harry thought, as the lift stopped and let them out in the Atrium. _And they would be right._

Riddle shadowed him closely as he walked out towards the central fountain—where a whole collection of reporters waited. Harry froze. Of course he had known he would be interviewed, but for some reason, he had thought it would be one person and a photographer.

“Do get used to it,” Riddle counseled him, as he laid his hand in the middle of Harry’s back and drove him forwards like a Muggle driving cattle. “I assume that you’re going to be in the public’s sights a lot from now on.”

“Because of you and your pathetic farce of making me your bodyguard,” Harry hissed, not moving his lips, as they came up close to a woman he recognized as Rita Skeeter from the _Daily Prophet. _He had thought of her as a devoted supporter of Riddle’s regime, but she was beaming at him now, almost bouncing on her heels, one hand rising to pat her blonde hair and make sure it was in place. He supposed her real love was being on the front lines of important stories.

“Why so nervous, Harry? I understand that you’re a talented actor.”

_You have no idea. _Harry forced down the terrified laughter that wanted to bubble out of his throat.

Yes, he _was _skilled at acting and lying, but at only one kind: the kind that would keep Riddle from looking at him. He knew exactly how he should act long before Hogwarts. Even most of the other members of the Order, except Sirius who loved him because he was Harry’s godfather, had dismissed him as a bumbling idiot who couldn’t be of much help in their struggle.

_Be small. Be just smart enough not to draw attention from concerned professors who want to help you pass your exams. Be unimportant. Be unremarkable. Be unseeable. Be invisible. Speak of your soulmate, if you must, as female, so no one gets the wrong idea. _

He had to keep anyone from looking at him too closely, because those other Order members might have wanted to treat him as a weapon if they’d realized that they had Riddle’s soulmate on their side. His parents and Dumbledore had never wanted that, but the bloody name on his wrist distanced even them from Harry.

Harry didn’t think they were aware of the way they looked at him, sometimes, with shadows in the back of their eyes. The way his mother’s hand trembled when she touched him. The pity deeply entwined with suspicion in his father’s heart, and he didn’t know about the suspicion.

_Part of them has to wonder: why in the world does my soul resemble Tom Riddle’s enough to make us potentially bonded to each other? And what about those black feathers mixed with the white ones on Tom Riddle’s phoenix?_

Harry roughly shook his body, dislodging the stupid, thick thoughts in his head and Riddle’s hand both at once. Yes, he could feel sorry for himself all day long, and in the end, that would do nothing to help the Order. The _real _thing he could _actually _do was walk forwards and make sure that Riddle never found out that last dirty secret.

He made sure he was smiling as he reached out and shook Skeeter’s hand. “Ms. Skeeter, right? I’ve heard so much about you.”

*

_What would it take to win him over? Truly?_

Other than some questions that inevitably came his way, Tom had stepped into the background and watched as Harry expertly handled the reporters: joking, answering earnestly, even flirting a little as if he didn’t notice he was doing it. He might have been in training to handle them all his life.

_What in the world did the Order teach him?_

Tom knew where his own skills—skills like fading into the background even though he was there—had come from: his childhood in the cursed orphanage, and the desperate, clawing need to survive that had carried him through his first few years as a Mudblood in Slytherin. But Harry Potter had been raised as the child of doting parents, and while they had been active rebels even then, it wasn’t as though they would have—

_Yes. His skills could come from training._

But then, lodging Harry Potter in a minor position in the Ministry and not even having him _try _to kill Tom still foundered on the rock of common sense.

Skeeter finally wrapped up her interview, her eyes aglow in the way that Tom knew meant she was truly impressed. She edged out of the conversation and over to Tom, tilting her head at him like a curious bird. “Wherever did you find him, Minister Riddle?”

Tom smiled at her. “Why, right here in the Ministry, Madam Skeeter. You must have heard that he had a position in the Department of Magical Games and Sports before he came to such _unexpected _prominence.”

“Of course, sir, I reported that myself. But I can’t help but wonder.” Skeeter paused to moisten her lips with her tongue for a moment. “Did you perhaps keep him in reserve, your own protégé, until you planned to pull him out and stun us all? I only ask because it’s so unusual for you to pardon criminals, you understand.”

And the inspiration came to Tom like a bolt of sunfire.

Not how to win Harry over. It would take time and study to understand that. But how to make it that much harder for him to hide.

Tom leaned forwards. “Well, you must know that he followed in the footsteps of his parents more closely than I have acknowledged to the public. He believes in their ideals. I wouldn’t tell this to just _anyone, _but I know your prowess with the quill, Madam Skeeter.”

Skeeter snapped it up like a frog after dragonflies, of course, her eyes wide with greed. “Then why give him as much favor as you have, Minister?”

“Because,” Tom said, and lowered his voice a little, an effective trick he had learned from watching Horace Slughorn, “he is more than that. More than a misguided choice he made when he was younger. Do you realize that everyone who was there when he stopped the roof from falling, including me, owes him a life-debt now? And yet Mr. Potter avoids calling attention to himself and hasn’t even spoken about the life-debts he has claim to. I believe he is far less arrogant and more modest than his parents.”

“So you think that you can redeem him?”

“Perhaps the word I might use is _reclaim_,” Tom said, with a subtle tilt of his head. “After all, Mr. Potter would certainly argue that he did no harm when he followed his parents’ beliefs, any more than he did when he stopped that roof from falling. But he doesn’t even think I would spend that time on him. He has _no _expectation of reward, Madam Skeeter. None at all. He expects scorn and fury. That’s it.”

Skeeter looked appropriately baffled. Tom had to admit he sometimes enjoyed speaking to her; no one else around him had a more intuitive grasp of how power worked. Skeeter glanced at Harry and then at him. “So he won’t seek me out for an interview?”

Tom shook his head.

“He—he won’t try to parley the life-debts into something interesting?” An appalled tone was creeping into Skeeter’s voice.

“It wouldn’t even occur to him.”

“He won’t at least take the chance to raise his profile in the eyes of the public?”

“Of course not,” Tom said, gentle as spring. “Look at the stiff way he’s smiling at people now. He doesn’t _like _it when they look at him. He’s not a hardened criminal, Madam Skeeter. He’s someone young and powerful who’s been told to downplay that talent all his life. _That’s _the reason I think I can reclaim him.”

Skeeter nodded slowly. The greed in her eyes was more complex now, the way she looked when she had a story that appealed to her personally as well as one people would want to read. “You think he might go back into hiding unless someone makes the effort to bring him forwards?”

“I think it’s a distinct possibility, Madam,” Tom said.

“Then someone should,” Skeeter said, and set off for Harry like a shark moving through bloody water.

Tom didn’t step back and salute himself, but he would have liked to. His gaze crossed Harry’s, and he wanted to laugh at the suspicion in Harry’s eyes. The attack would come from a direction he wasn’t anticipating. That was one good thing about Harry’s fervent belief that Tom was the source of all evil.

_The only good thing._

But Tom had won a move in the game, and he didn’t intend to brood right now on Harry’s hatred for him and his own odd focus on overcoming that hatred. Other reporters waited to interview the Minister who had made such an unprecedented move as pardoning fugitives. He turned to savor his eminence.

*

“Do you have _any _idea why Riddle did this, Albus?”

Lily sat back in a quiet corner of Albus’s office and let James ask the questions. She was too busy basking in the nostalgic feeling of being back at Hogwarts. She and James hadn’t returned for nine years, since their exile. She watched Fawkes on his perch, and the brilliant fire in the corner, and the gleaming gold on the covers of the books on Albus’s shelves.

It made her breath come short with something like hunger. She would be free to come out and read _new _books again, not the few that had come with them and the even rarer ones that some people dared to smuggle or steal for them. She could absorb new knowledge and let her fingers run gently over pages they hadn’t felt a hundred times before.

“He aims to control Harry.”

Lily’s pulse jumped, and she focused on Albus again. Yes, she could read new books _if _Riddle’s pardon was sincere and he actually meant to let them come out of exile. Of course, neither Albus nor James trusted in that promise.

“He knows what Harry is?” James was so tense that Lily felt the bond between them vibrate. She reached out to stroke his shoulder. James leaned a little towards her, but he didn’t relax and he didn’t look away from the Headmaster.

“No,” Albus said, with a considering shake of his head. “I doubt it very much. He would not have let matters go this far without immediately moving to secure Harry as his. And I do believe he would announce it.”

“He would,” Lily said. “More than that, Harry would have let us know.”

Albus’s answering nod was so slow that Lily wanted to stand up and shriek. “What?” She knew she sounded louder, more put-out, than she should have been, but Albus made her voice go like that sometimes.

“Harry would have let us know. _If _he is still loyal.”

Lily held her head high. “I trust my son. He’s put up with enormous temptations so far. And his cover is mostly gone now, he can’t be an effective spy anymore, but he still hasn’t told Riddle the one thing that matters most.”

Albus sighed a little. “Neither has he reached out to us, my dear—”

“His post is being intercepted, I’m sure. And he has Auror guards around him even when he’s not with Riddle, Sirius said. So he can’t send a Patronus, either.”

“I want to believe that he is loyal,” Albus said, every word falling into the silence like a piece of metal into water. “So much, so strongly. You have no idea how I yearn for that. But I must take account of contingencies when I make plans. And Harry’s _acceptance _of this closeness to Riddle makes me think...makes me fear...”

“He knows Riddle is a bastard,” James burst in, his fists balled on his knees. “You can’t think that he’ll go over to him!”

Albus sat back. “Do you know why I agreed to Harry’s request to be in the Ministry, despite the fact that it would have been much safer for all of us if he had gone into exile with you?”

“I know,” Lily said. She remembered the determination on a fourteen-year-old Harry’s face, when he came to them, just a few days before they had to leave, in fact, and told them he didn’t want to be kept in the dark out of Riddle’s sight all his life. “He had to feel like he was doing something. He wanted to help, and he knew that he would never be able to have his soulmate, so—”

“Yes, I gave him a way to contribute to the war effort. I never would have done it if I had thought there was a risk that he would come to Riddle’s attention.”

Lily looked at Albus, and it felt almost as if she had become detached from her body, floating. Certainly it must be someone else, or something else, that opened her mouth and used her voice to ask, “Or if you thought there was a risk that he would save Riddle’s life?”

The tension in the office hung frozen for endless moments. James’s eyes opened wide. Albus stared at her and didn’t move. Lily waited for the tension to break, but it felt like ice when it did.

“I did not anticipate that Harry would be there,” Albus said, his voice itself touched with frost. “Are you saying that I would have—”

“I’m not saying you meant to kill him,” Lily said, and amazingly, it seemed that the person in control of her mouth and body was her, and she was going ahead and saying this, after all. “I’m saying that you’re disappointed Riddle didn’t die. And part of you probably thinks that Harry intervened to save his soulmate, not his own life, or the lives of all the other innocents who were there—”

“They were _not_ innocents, Lily. They were war criminals—”

“Riddle and his cronies could say the same of us,” Lily interrupted. “Albus, I want to know where the war is. I want to know why it was worth slaughtering reporters and Aurors and others along with Riddle to kill him. I understand that he’s passed laws or is going to pass laws that have a huge impact on Muggles and Muggleborns. Can’t we concentrate on those, instead of treating this as a war? I’m tired of fighting one that doesn’t even have soldiers on the other side.”

“But we have no choice, Lily-Bell.” James was leaning earnestly forwards in his chair, his hand extended, while Albus watched them, mute. “We’re fugitives, we’re on the run—”

“I don’t think we’re fugitives anymore.”

That shut James up but good, and Lily couldn’t help the faint twinge of satisfaction that traveled down the bond to jolt him. James frowned and shook his head, but not as if he was doubting her. It was Albus who interrupted.

“Once you think about it,” Albus murmured, “I am sure that you will see that the intent behind the pardons Riddle has issued for you is not sincere. After all, he may have done it only to gain favor with Harry. Not as a courting gift,” he added hastily, probably because he’d seen both their mouths opening, “but to constrain him, make Harry grateful and walk at his side. And to lure _you _from _my _side.”

“There’s nothing saying that we can’t work against Riddle legally if we go back to the wizarding world, you know,” James said, and his face was sick with the same kind of longing Lily could feel in her heart. “We would just have to make sure that our association with the Order of the Phoenix stayed quiet.”

“And Riddle’s attempting to gain Harry’s favor? You know how powerful Harry is. It would be a disaster for our side if he joined Riddle! It already has been!”

Lily sat up slowly. “You’re not saying that it was a disaster that our son lived, Albus?”

“It is a disaster that Riddle is alive!”

Lily closed her eyes. She could feel old and new loyalties struggling in her, and she didn’t know how to make the decision. It shouldn’t be made out of guilt or love, she thought. It should be made out of disinterested principle.

But Albus had already gone beyond that, hadn’t he? The desperation shining through his eyes said how personal this was. And treating it like a war had begun to wear on Lily long before this, though she had never known how much until now.

She swallowed and looked at Albus and said, “I’m going to go back to my son. I’ve missed nine years with him. I don’t want to miss more. And I’m going to learn how to help him live in a world where his soulmate is alive but Harry can never be with him.”

Albus sat motionless. Then he said, “You still believe that Riddle and Harry should not be together, then.” His voice was defeated, weak.

“Yes.” Lily hadn’t changed her mind on that. Riddle might not be in the midst of a war, the people who had been with him in that building when the roof collapsed might not have deserved to die, but Riddle was still a heartless bastard who would never be able to get over the fact that his soulmate was half-Muggleborn. Or even that he had hidden for so long. The last thing Lily wanted for Harry was a cage. He had been in one already.

“So be it.” Albus sighed. “I can hardly compel you to stay. But make contact with the Aurors in a protected place, will you? And a long way from the portal that leads back to where the Order is hiding.”

“Of course.” Lily had never had any other intention. If nothing else, Sirius hadn’t been pardoned yet, and she didn’t want him to be captured.

James smiled at her and they stood, walking away from the office. Lily reached out to take his hand. The moment they touched, the tingling, singing bond sprang to life between them, and Lily saw the depth of James’s yearning to—

“Go home,” he whispered, turning and bending down to kiss her. “To be somewhere that we can see our son daily and help him. I don’t know if even _Harry _knows what’s going to happen next. We should help him figure that out.”

Lily closed her eyes in delight, and led her soulmate away from there, through the silent corridors of Hogwarts.

*

Albus stared at the thick white potion in the flask, and felt as though someone had reached inside him and scooped out all his viscera. His stomach twinged, and his head, and he shut his eyes and fought the temptation to vomit that was coursing through him.

He had the poison. He knew that this one would get past all the defenses that Riddle might possess as a Parselmouth. And he had someone else in the Ministry, someone Harry had never known about, closely-positioned enough to give the poison to Riddle. It could not be eaten or drunk; it had to be spelled into Riddle’s skin.

But it felt as though he had come down to last-ditch, desperate measures. His people were walking away from him. There was no war, Lily had said, and Albus had to wonder how many others would start to believe that, or even falter in their commitment simply because Riddle had pardoned too many people and they would wonder if they could be next.

Albus then opened his eyes and sharply shook his head. He had not started this crusade because he had wanted to command others. He had started it because of the danger that Tom Riddle had posed, and still posed, to their world. A madman would not have been as dangerous, but a charismatic, intelligent, political bigot? Yes, everyone had reason to fear, whether or not they understood it.

And if Harry was going to help Riddle…

Well, the guilt that had long stayed Albus’s hand, the guilt at what would happen to one soulmate with the loss of the other, need no longer apply.

*

“Your parents said that they’re going to meet us here.”

Harry looked around uneasily at the dripping clearing in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. Honestly, he did believe the message. Both his parents’ Patronuses had come to him and confirmed it, and his hope had soared high before they Apparated here.

But for some reason, he just didn’t feel easy here. Maybe it was the way the trees loomed around them and cut out the sight of the sky. Maybe it was the constant soft patter of the rain. It bounced from the Impervious Charm stretched above Harry’s head, sure, but that didn’t matter.

“Harry.”

Harry jumped and turned around to look at Riddle, catching the sight of Whipwood’s scowl out of the corner of his eye. _Yeah, well, it doesn’t exactly please _me _that he calls me by my first name, either, _Harry thought back at her, and focused on Riddle. “Yes, sir?”

“Have you thought about what you might want to claim as payment of the life-debt I owe you?”

“I thought my parents’ pardons were payment for that, sir.”

Riddle’s eyes widened a little. Harry hated that he couldn’t tell the difference between sincerity and lying on the man’s face anymore. “What? Of course not. I reconsidered the cases and agreed with the Wizengamot that they had been punished unfairly.”

Harry snorted and faced the dripping forest again. His parents were supposed to come from the east. He hoped that they would simply show up, and he would get to hug them, and then they would get to go home. Hopefully not to the fancy new flat that Riddle had insisted on shoving him into, either.

“It’s not polite to leave someone who asked you a question without an answer, Harry.”

Harry half-closed his eyes and exhaled in silent frustration. Then he turned around, shook his head roughly, and said as clearly as he could, “I _am not _going to claim the life-debt.”

Silence, except for the plop of rain from the branches. Then Riddle took a casual step closer to him and said, “You cannot do that.”

“Really? Anyone who doesn’t want to claim one can refuse a life-debt.” Harry felt savage delight welling up in him as Riddle’s face darkened. “I know my pure-blood history as well as you do, Minister, given that the professors you _installed _in Hogwarts teach it. Life-debts are refused because the person doesn’t care to spend that amount of time around someone whose life they saved, or because the savior is wealthy and doesn’t need any form of repayment, or because the savior considers it already repaid. And of course no one can claim a life-debt who rescues someone out of some ulterior motive.”

“Are you saying you rescued _me_ out of some ulterior motive, Harry?”

“Oh, no, Minister. Of course not. My motivation is the first one.”

“Remind me which of the ones in your list was the first one, Harry.”

Riddle’s eyes were blazing in that murderous way that said he didn’t need reminding. Harry smiled at him, as sweet as the cherry pies his mother used to make. “I can’t stand you.”

“Incoming, sir,” said an Auror hastily from behind Riddle. “The Potters.”

Harry didn’t even have the chance to turn away before Riddle abruptly collapsed, clawing at his throat.

_Shit! They’re going to blame my parents; they’re going to blame me…_

Harry dropped to his knees beside Riddle, ignoring the fact that Whipwood and some other Auror were trying to wrestle him away. A quick flex of his magic ensured that a barrier rose up between him and them that bounced them all away from him, and Harry could concentrate on Riddle.

The way his throat was swelling closed and his eyes were going glassy said poison. But most people knew Riddle was immune to almost all forms of venom as a Parselmouth, so why would someone try—

_Dumbledore. It has to be. Of course he would try again._

Harry closed his eyes. He had a moment to debate, and all the thoughts fled through his head: he should let Riddle die; he’d already betrayed the Order enough; the last thing he wanted was to go to Azkaban _now_, when he might have a chance at a normal life with his parents; they would blame his parents for this when they’d shown up just as the poison took effect; Dumbledore would think Harry had saved Riddle just because they were soulmates.

_Shit._

Harry placed his hands on either side of Riddle’s throat and sank his magic in. Riddle arched his back up and then became still. Whipwood and the other Aurors were screaming and pounding on the barrier now.

Harry reached deeper and deeper still with his magic, working out the poison, drawing it out. The only reason he could do this was that his Animagus form was that of a venomous serpent—well, that and his soulmate connection with Riddle. But he would simply rely on the story of powerful magic if anyone asked him how he’d managed.

The venom flowed into Harry, and he shuddered. He could feel his own throat thickening, his head drooping as sweat broke out on his forehead and his system engaged in all-out battle with it. He knew he would win. Riddle had probably only succumbed to it in the first place because he was taken by surprise. Harry’s magic and body had known what was coming, and had even had the chance to study the poison a little as he absorbed it.

But it would still be a fight. Harry let go of Riddle’s throat as the flush and swelling subsided and the man began to breathe normally, and, with a last effort of will, broke the barrier that held the Aurors back.

Someone was screaming at him and holding him at wandpoint. Harry ignored that completely, turning his attention inwards. Right now, he needed all his concentration to ensure that he survived.

He would, he promised himself. He would live with his parents. He would ensure that, going forwards, they somehow managed to battle Riddle but stay in the world and not use the Order’s extreme tactics.

And—

Harry smiled as darkness raced over him. Riddle would owe him another life-debt after this, wouldn’t he?

Freedom from Riddle’s presence sounded like the best gift Harry could ask for.

*

“For the last time, Jalena, I’m all right.”

Auror Whipwood sighed and stepped back as Tom climbed to his feet. “I’m sorry, sir. When I saw your throat swelling and that barrier Potter put up around the two of you, I thought for sure—”

“Understandable. Would you send two of your own to escort the Potters in? I am going to accompany this particular Mr. Potter to St. Mungo’s.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, sir? They might have had something to do with this.”

“And we’ll investigate and see if that was true or not.” Tom treated Whipwood to a thin smile. “Go.”

With a loud sigh, Whipwood turned and stomped away. Tom, meanwhile, walked over to stand and look down at Harry, who was flushing and paling by turns while his body worked through the poison. Thick white droplets were sliding down his skin, mingled with sweat, as the battle continued.

“He should not be lying in the dirt,” Tom said softly without taking his eyes from Harry. “Lift him.”

Aurors and flunkies rushed to obey his command. Tom strode next to Harry as they headed rapidly for the limits of the anti-Apparition spells, after which would come transportation to St. Mungo’s.

The more suspicious part of his mind was wondering whether Harry had set this up, after all. Save Tom’s life twice and get him to trust him? A masterful ploy for steering an Order spy close to him.

But two life-debts wouldn’t create a greater connection than a single one. And Tom was absolutely certain that the disdain on Harry’s face when he had said he wouldn’t claim the first debt was real. In fact, the antagonistic approach was all wrong for getting Tom to trust someone in the first place. He didn’t put up with abrasiveness. He had been drawn to Harry in spite of that, not because of it.

What Harry wanted more than anything, Tom was certain, was for Tom to leave him _alone._

Of course, that did leave the questions open of why he had acted the way he had, and why he seemed to crave the simple life so much.

And how he was fighting this poison in the first place, when he wasn’t a Parselmouth and had no ability to resist venoms.

Tom smiled pleasantly. Once again, he found himself looking forward to the conversation he and Harry would have in the near future.


	7. Articles

Harry woke slowly. His whole body felt the way his tongue did after he drank too much. He wrinkled his nose and stretched, pausing when he heard the crinkle of sheets. He would have expected to find he was in a holding cell at the Ministry, not a bedroom.

He opened his eyes to the blank white ceiling of what must be St. Mungo’s. Harry snorted a little. Riddle was piling on the supposed kindness to get Harry to work for him, wasn’t he? Didn’t he have anything _better _to do?

No one was responding to his noises, so Harry assumed he was alone until he sat up and managed to turn his head. Then he froze. There was a chair with wooden arms and a padded back sitting not far from the bed, and Riddle was sprawled across it, his legs on one arm and his head on the other, asleep.

Harry winced automatically, but then decided the man must have cast some Cushioning Charms. He was far too decadent to _actually _sleep on wood.

But those snide thoughts tattered and blew away as Harry’s eyes lingered on Riddle. God, he was handsome when he wasn’t sneering and arguing and trying to blow Harry’s head off. Even the silver around his temples just made his dark hair look better, like the silver edging on really expensive robes or something.

Harry knew he was staring, but he couldn’t manage to care. This was maybe the only chance he would ever have to watch his soulmate and dream a little and not have to conceal the secret or feel guilty about it.

His parents had actually encouraged him to date at Hogwarts, knowing that he would never have the chance to be with his soulmate, but Harry had held back at that. Unless he could find a widower—a boy or man whose soulmate had died—he wouldn’t feel right taking someone else’s chance at happiness away from them. And widowers, except the rare ones born with black-edged marks that indicated their soulmate had died before they came into the world, tended to mourn for the rest of their lives. Harry didn’t want to date someone who did that, either.

He had _never _let his eyes run over someone like this, linger on the creases at the corner of their eyes, or stared at the flat stomach and muscles that peeked out from under a rising shirt. He wondered if he should be doing it now.

Then again, Riddle was probably used to attention like this. If he woke up and saw Harry staring, he wouldn’t assume Harry was his soulmate. He would think that Harry had succumbed to his charms like “everyone” did.

But it wasn’t Riddle’s handsome face, in the end, that made Harry settle back and watch him. It was his soft breathing, his dangling left hand, and the faint wetness at the corner of his mouth. The way he looked _human_, and vulnerable, and had chosen to go to sleep in Harry’s presence when he probably had every reason to be paranoid about him.

Then Harry roughly tore his eyes away from Riddle and swore under his breath. Was he _trying _to prove himself disloyal? To say that he honestly had no bone left in his body that belonged to the Order, and that he was trying to have something he knew he couldn’t have?

Deliberately, he closed his eyes and reminded himself of the way Riddle had shoved him into a new flat, relentlessly questioned him about things that were _none of his business, _fought him, passed laws that would wipe Muggles’ minds, exiled his godfather and his parents…

Over a few minutes, Harry’s breathing steadied, and he curled up with his face turned away from Riddle. If he had to do that to control his weakness, then he would. He kept his eyes closed. He probably needed to catch up on sleep anyway.

And maybe his dreams would be about Riddle, too, the way it felt like they would right now, but if so, he would _deal with it_.

*

“Ah, Harry.”

Harry glanced up from the tray of sausage and eggs in front of him and gave Tom a smile that wasn’t the less fierce for not showing teeth at the moment. Then he turned deliberately back to his breakfast.

Tom sat down in the chair he’d spent a lot of time in over the past eighteen hours, which was how long it had taken Harry to fight off the venom and the Healers to be sure that he wouldn’t have a relapse.

“You are a wonder.”

“Hmmmm.”

“I owe you two life-debts and you don’t want to claim a single one. You act as though you would do anything for your parents and godfather, and yet you are extending the same loyalty to me.” Harry whipped around at that, glaring. Tom smiled and held up his hands, enjoying the way that Harry’s gaze went to them to make sure he wasn’t holding a wand. “How else should I take the fact that you saved my life twice?”

Harry swallowed, but didn’t speak.

“And now, this.” Tom lowered his voice. “I want you to tell me how you purged the poison.”

“When you have magic as powerful as mine—”

Tom’s amusement fled. This was the other side of Harry being so different from most of the people who surrounded him: he thought he could get away with treating Tom like he was stupid. “I know very well that powerful magic is not a defense, or the poison would not have felled me in the first place.”

“You weren’t prepared for it. I was.”

“Even that is not an answer.” Tom had had the Healers collect samples of the liquid dripping out of Harry’s skin. It was an incredibly potent mixture of cobra and taipan venom, added to with magic until it had that thick white consistency. Tom knew he would have had more luck defeating it if he was aware of it when it struck, but he still would have found himself writhing on the ground and unconscious for nearly as long as Harry.

Which left one possibility.

“_How long have you been a Parselmouth_?”

Harry froze, his fork in the air. Then he turned around, eyes narrowed. “I’m not one.”

“_Come, Harry, don’t be stubborn._” Tom leaned forwards, hoping Harry wouldn’t see the slight tremor in his hands. He would think it weakness, and Tom wanted honesty at the moment, not challenges. In reality, he was dealing with a delight so intense that it seared him like flame. “_No one but another Parselmouth could have defeated the venom, and you obviously understand me._”

“I’m not one. I can understand it, but I can’t speak it.” Harry was going to bend the fork if he kept on clutching it like that. “I—when I was thirteen I found out I had the potential for a boomslang Animagus form.”

Tom blinked. Then he said, “_You know that I honor those with serpentine forms. Why did you hide it?_”

Harry turned fully to look at him for the first time since Tom had entered the room. His teeth did show this time, and he said, “Oh, I _wonder_.”

Exasperation raced along with the delight and twined through it like a second fire starting. Tom stood, but kept speaking in Parseltongue as he paced over to Harry’s hospital bed, his hand shooting out and twisting in Harry’s hair. Nothing but defiance shone out of the green eyes staring at him as Tom said, “_You must get over your attempts to deprive me of things I want._”

“While those things include me, I’ll do whatever I please.”

Tom let go of Harry but sat down on the side of the bed, much closer than he usually got. That practically ignited the flames in Harry’s eyes, but Tom ignored the way he tried to move off. “_You are playing a game that has no good reason behind it. I already know who you are, what you’re capable of. When you get out of hospital, I’ll ensure that you get to participate in an Animagus training program, since I’m sure that you never went through the trouble to master your form._”

Harry’s face took on an amazingly vapid expression, the sort he’d worn Tom’s Public Day before Dumbledore tried to bring down the roof and Harry had saved them all. “Animagus training? Huh? You know I probably had all the brains knocked out of my head by Bludgers years ago.”

Tom stared at him. “_You would fail the class._”

“Amazing guess, _Dark Lord._”

Tom felt as though someone had stung him across the face with a whip. He fell into English. “I am not a Dark Lord. I did not choose that path. And I have never done anything that you can throw in my face.”

“I’ve told you already what I think about your policies concerning Muggles and Muggleborns.”

“And I should have told _you_ enough to make you realize that I will not be committing genocide on Muggleborns or whatever ridiculous excuse Dumbledore has dreamed up to make me look like a Dark Lord! It is a game—”

“Indulging people _obsessed _with genocide is the kind of game that means you don’t care about anyone else.” Harry was hiding behind a wall of righteousness again, his magic agitated to the point that it surrounded him with small sparkling white flashes like fireworks. “You’ll let them talk and you’ll let the discourse in Britain turn more and more against Muggleborns, and you won’t care, because all that matters to you is being the one at the center who calls the tune.”

“And all that matters to _you_ is useless stubbornness for its own sake.”

“You can’t make me into one of your servants. I think that’s enough.”

Tom imposed the kind of restraint on himself that he had to have to deal with the Blacks, and managed to smile thinly. “You haven’t seen the paper today, have you?”

“Oh, are they calling me one of your servants? It won’t matter. We both know the truth, and we know how passionately I’ll resist if—or is it my parents? What have you done to my parents?”

_Passionately. _Tom wanted that passion, yes, but he wanted it in willing surrender. He could imagine Harry underneath him, mouth straining open, hands reaching up and yearning as they curled near Tom’s temples, his face flushing as he understood the Parseltongue endearments Tom hissed, which was more than anyone else had ever done—

Tom wanted him so badly that it was an effort to step back, but he managed to shake his head. “Nothing about your parents. They’ve been kept outside St. Mungo’s because they were so intent on trying to do something about the venom that they got in the Healers’ way. But they’ll see you now that you’re conscious. The article is one of Madam Skeeter’s devising.”

“Then I don’t see why I should really want to read it when it’ll be all lies anyway.”

“Now, Harry, I thought you understood the ways of power.”

“I understand them just fine. That doesn’t tell me why I should _practice _them.”

Tom paused. He wondered if Dumbledore had coached Harry to act like this, or if it was something Harry did on his own. Really, when Harry could be almost anything, why did he choose to be _this_?

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, and unfolded the copy of the _Daily Prophet _he had kept beside him for Harry’s awakening. “Now, if you would take a look at this article and then try to accuse me of hurting you again, it would make my day complete.”

Harry shot him a narrow-eyed look and then looked at the paper. His eyes widened. “You _bastard_.”

“My parents were as married as yours.”

“Or as married as a Muggle and a witch who used love potions on him could be.”

Tom had to stiffen his muscles against the urge to strike out. “You could make things dangerous and tedious for yourself, Harry, or you could go along with me,” he suggested softly. “Why not go along?”

“Because what you want from me is my _service._ And I already have a cause that I’m loyal to.”

Tom took a step back. “A cause that’s given you little, since it’s had you hiding who you are, and convinced you that you can never approach your soulmate, and deprived of your parents and your godfather. At least _consider _my offer, Harry, instead of blindly rejecting it.”

Harry was having difficulty looking away from the front page of the paper, which was good and as Tom had designed it, but he did turn towards him with narrow, brilliant eyes then. “I thought of what I want as the payment for my second life-debt.”

“What’s that?”

“You to stay away from me.”

“No.”

Harry stared at him, beautiful even in his frustration. Tom made sure that nothing of his desire showed on his face. “_What_? I’m making a _request_. You can’t even pretend to honor one that you were urging me to make not a day ago?”

“It’s been more than a day,” Tom said pleasantly, for the pleasure of seeing Harry’s snarl deepen. “And you don’t know the rules surrounding life-debts as well as you think you do, Harry, or you would have known better than to make this particular request. The person who saved the other’s life is assumed to have a certain interest in the one they rescued. That means that they need to spend some time together, and the rescuer can’t simply send the debtor away. That’s tantamount to wishing that you had never saved my life in the first place.”

“I wish I never had!”

Tom laughed. “And I know that if someone managed to poison me right now, you would spring up to save me. You aren’t good at fooling people, Harry. I wish you wouldn’t try. If you knew what I could give you, what I _long _to give you…”

Harry opened his mouth as though to say something, and then turned away with a violent shake of his head. “I want to see my parents.”

“But of course. As long as you are out of danger.” Tom paused to watch as Harry stared at the paper again, his mouth set in a grim line, and then smiled. “_I will see you later, my dear, and we will talk at greater length._”

Harry refused to react to the Parseltongue, but Tom left the room well-pleased anyway. Skeeter’s article had won him some revenge, assuming he had ever needed it, but in truth, he wanted to devise some way to win Harry’s loyalty.

Perhaps he should take another look at his godfather’s case.

*

_MINISTER’S PRODIGY SCARED TO APPROACH SOULMATE!_

Harry swallowed and shook his head. The headline was devastating, and not because of the treacly article that followed, gushing over the details that Harry had told Riddle and he had passed along to Rita Skeeter. The article said that Harry’s soulmate was someone important in the Ministry, someone who valued blood purity and had political beliefs the opposite of Harry’s, and concluded with Riddle’s “moving appeal,” as Skeeter put it, to the unknown soulmate to approach Harry.

“_I know exactly how valuable our Mr. Potter is,_” _Minister Riddle told me, looking into my eyes with the sincerity so characteristic of his politics. “I would hate to see someone lose out on the chance to know him because of a misguided belief in blood purity._”

Harry’s fingers curled around the edge of the paper and made it wrinkle. Then he swallowed and bowed his head.

It sounded like he had _told _Riddle about who his soulmate was, or hinted around the edges. Would Dumbledore be able to forgive him for that? Would his parents?

Then Harry violently dismissed the notion of Dumbledore forgiving him. Of course he couldn’t, when Harry had interfered in his attempts to end the war twice now. No, he would just take this as confirmation that he also needed to kill Harry now. It was his parents whose reaction worried him.

Then the door of the room opened, and his mother exclaimed, “Oh, Harry, are you okay?”

Harry flung the paper aside and turned to them. His parents’ eyes were shining with anxiety, and Harry felt his heart bound. They were here, they were real, they were _alive_, and Riddle hadn’t said a word about blaming them for the poisoning. He held out his arms, and his mother ran across the room and hurled herself into them.

His father came in a little more slowly, but still grabbed him in a rough embrace. He whispered, “What price did Riddle demand for our pardons?”

“Nothing. He’s trying to use them as a bribe.” Harry wished he had bigger arms. It was hard to hold his parents the way he wished he could, and his mother giving a little sob and cuddling closer didn’t help with that.

“Well, now that we’re back, we can help you stay out of situations where you need to save Riddle’s life.” James seemed to realize that hadn’t landed well, and cleared his throat. “Did you—tell Riddle about your soulmate?”

Harry snorted. “Hardly. I told him that my soulmate was someone who wouldn’t want me because of blood purity and their political beliefs, and he drew his own conclusions.”

“Oh.” James leaned closer and hugged him as Lily finally stepped away, wiping her eyes and smiling. “Harry, I have to tell you…”

Harry nodded, and let his father cast the spell that could project thoughts the way Sirius could, although no one could answer the silent voice. It was the most secure way of communicating in hospital, which was probably crawling with Riddle’s spies and flunkies.

_Albus wasn’t pleased with us for leaving the Order. We even wondered if he planned for the poisoning to occur as we arrived at the rendezvous. But not everything is lost, as long as you don’t tell Riddle the name of your soulmate. _

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry said, and smiled at James. Lily took his hand, and Harry squeezed it back and then hugged her again as she sat on the edge of his bed. She was far more welcome than Riddle had been.

“I’m sorry,” James said aloud. “We’ve asked for so many sacrifices from you, and now we’re going to go on asking for more.”

Harry sighed. “I knew when I was little that I wouldn’t get to have my soulmate, Dad.”

“And yet you never dated anyone else.”

“How could I take someone else’s happiness from them?”

Lily interrupted. “This is getting morbid. Let’s talk about happier things, like the fact that you have a new flat that could hold us all, Harry. I’m afraid the Ministry didn’t see fit to relax the interdiction on our house…”

Harry let himself swim happily back into the realm of “normal” conversation, still half-disbelieving that he had his parents back.

*

“And that’s all they said?”

“That’s all they said about his soulmate, sir. The rest of the conversation was about where they would live, and how much money they could use from the accounts that had been unfrozen to buy furniture.”

Tom nodded and dismissed the Healer, Enkson, who owed him enough favors to report anyone else’s conversations without hesitation. Enkson bowed and scurried out of the room. Tom leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling.

Who _was _Harry’s soulmate? And how could he have known since he was young, given that he bore the phoenix image on his arm, and images were notoriously difficult to match to one another? It was one reason that Tom had had to test everyone he could find who carried a phoenix; there was no way to be sure who it was from a mere description.

Tom closed his eyes. This didn’t make sense, any more than Harry hiding his serpent Animagus form did.

Well, no, he supposed that last part made “sense” in the same odd way that everything else did: Harry had been utterly determined to avoid _Tom Riddle’s _attention in particular. Even if he had declined to enter the Serpent Guard, he would have been watched, and under consistent “persuasion” and testing from those who were aware of his Animagus form.

But how he could have known who his soulmate was—

Tom snapped his eyes open abruptly, his breath coming short. Harry could have known if he carried a name. Soulmates born with someone else’s name on their skin were rare, and even then, the person they were paired with might have an image or a different phrase, not the corresponding name. That would fit the situation perfectly. Harry was aware of who his soulmate was, but the other person wouldn’t realize it.

And that meant the phoenix image Harry carried was an illusion. A _lie._

_He’s been lying all along, _Tom thought, his heart crashing in his chest. _Why wouldn’t he lie about this?_

But then, Tom couldn’t take on trust the other information Harry had fed him, either. Perhaps his soulmate wasn’t highly positioned in the Ministry, or a believer in blood purity. Perhaps Harry had some other reason for staying away from her.

_No, wait. _Tom had been listening as a Legilimens when Harry spoke those words. He would have picked up any true lies. The illusion on Harry’s skin, though, was a passive lie, the kind of thing no one would have a reason to probe.

_How does he know? Who is it?_

Desire surged molten through Tom. He had thought for a moment of promising Harry that he would dissolve any obstacles between the stubborn idiot and his soulmate, but he had already attempted that with the article, and Harry had been anything but grateful. In truth, Tom Riddle did not want to help Harry Potter find his soulmate.

It would be much more _satisfying _to seduce Harry Potter from his fruitless loyalty to someone he was determined never to join.

_We will find out if I can do that. _Tom Riddle reached again for the file resting on the edge of the desk.

*

“But are you sure this is a good idea, son?”

Harry grinned up at his father. The Healers still weren’t letting him out of bed because they wanted him to “recover from his magical exhaustion,” which was stupid. Fighting the poison had been a lot less work than lifting the roof of the building with magic, and no one had insisted he rest then. “Yes, I am. You saw that article Riddle put out about me.”

“Yes, but I think Skeeter is an uneasy ally to have.”

Harry shrugged and looked up as the door of his room opened. James tensed beside him, and Harry was sure he knew why. It couldn’t be easy to spend years in exile and then see your greatest enemy stroll up to you as if nothing had happened, hand extended and an empty smile on his face. Harry _wasn’t _sure if his father noticed the way that Riddle’s gaze remained fixed on Harry, even as he appeared to attend to James.

Then again, the sincerity or otherwise of Riddle’s congratulations would hardly tempt James to switch sides.

“Mr. Potter?” Riddle’s voice was low and smooth. “I’m Minister Tom Riddle. I’m so glad that the Wizengamot was able to pass the pardon for the crimes that I didn’t judge closely enough. And so sorry that we had to meet later, under these circumstances, than our original meeting planned in the forest.”

“Minister Riddle.” James’s voice was stiff, but he did shake the bastard’s hand, which Harry thought was pretty gracious of him. “I’m sorry my wife couldn’t be here to greet you. She’s reading.”

“Reading?” Riddle’s voice was politely baffled. He took the chair next to Harry’s bed as if he belonged in it, the one usually reserved for either blood kin or a soulmate. James opened his mouth as if to say something about that, then closed it. Harry was glad. He had enough trouble controlling his own reactions in the meantime.

But it made him even surer of the course he had decided on yesterday, when he had sent an owl to Skeeter.

“Yes. She wasn’t able to read up much on new Healing techniques in the past few years. The books she had access to were…limited.”

Riddle smiled as genially as if he had had no part in that. “Of course. Well, give my best to Mrs. Potter. Then again, it’s entirely possible that I shall be staying here until she returns.”

“It is, sir? But you must be so busy.”

“I’ve cleared my schedule this morning. It’s the least I could do given that someone who saved my life twice over is in hospital.” Riddle turned smoothly to face Harry. “_Isn’t that right, darling_?”

Harry looked back calmly. _Laugh now, you bastard, while you can. _He ignored his father’s sharp intake of breath at the Parseltongue and said only, “I’m honored by your attention, Minister, but it’s not necessary. The Healers have assured me I’ll make a full recovery.”

“We still have other matters to discuss, however. For example, I had the feeling that you weren’t pleased by the article Madam Skeeter published.”

“I understand that you can’t control the activities of newspaper reporters, Minister, and what they choose or choose not to write.” _Especially not today. _“That doesn’t mean that you need to take time out of your schedule to manage my personal reaction.”

“But I would not displease you for the world, Harry.” Riddle was smiling at him, that heavy expression that rested on Harry like a hand did. “Please tell me if there’s anything you want me to stop.”

James flickered a question at him with a single glance. Harry shrugged. He supposed it couldn’t hurt.

“Would you please stop calling me by my first name?”

Riddle nodded thoughtfully. “I could see why that would irritate you when, in your perception, we are not equals. I see you as my equal in power and intelligence, of course, but you continue to call be a respectful title, and it makes sense that you would want the same for yourself.”

“Thank you,” Harry said warily, while part of him tried to unravel the new game that had been sprung on him. Riddle saw him as his equal in _intelligence_? There was no way that was true.

“And it makes sense that you would want a modicum of privacy. I have long experience being on the front pages of newspapers, while you have almost none.”

Harry thought about what was going to be on the front page of the paper later that day and almost laughed. “I understand that sometimes someone will have to snap a picture of me, sir. It’s part of being your _bodyguard._”

Riddle smiled. “Given all that, and how I don’t like the distance between us that ‘Mr. Potter’ implies, I feel that calling you _admired one _is a sufficient compromise.”

Harry startled. The words had been in Parseltongue, and as little experience as he had with the language, he could pick up on the nuances. They almost vibrated with appreciation for his ability to hunt and make the kill when he did, and contained the outermost edges of a snake being ready to mate.

_He can’t…_

Harry stared directly into Riddle’s eyes, trying to pick up on his intentions. He had no experience with Legilimency, but he could see the message Riddle was sending. His glance had gone deep and soft—well, imitation soft, which was the best you could get with someone like Riddle—and was slightly sidelong.

_Shit. He wants to court me. Shit._

Harry subdued the instinctive panic and shook his head slightly. “I don’t think that’s a good name either, sir.”

“But you want me to call you by name. And Mr. Potter places too much distance between us.”

“It’s an appropriate distance for Minister and bodyguard, sir.”

“But I call my Aurors by their first names. Or have you not been around long enough to hear that?”

Harry clenched his hands under the blankets. Yes, it was true that Riddle called Whipwood Jalena and other Aurors Samuel or Morgana or Betsy. But he had never thought it would apply to _him_. Technically, he was still Riddle’s enemy, and Riddle should have been wary of him, concentrated on punishing him.

Then again, almost nothing Riddle had done since the moment Harry had saved his life for the first time made sense.

Harry breathed out slowly and shrugged. “If you really insist on calling me that—Parseltongue term, Minister, then I’m not able to stop you.”

“Well, one thing could make me stop.”

“What?” Harry asked quickly, wondering if he should use a life-debt to just make Riddle call him “Mr. Potter.”

“Your permission to go back to calling you Harry.”

“You seem to be overly intimate with my son for someone who’s not his soulmate or blood kin, Minister Riddle,” James said coolly, and made Harry jump. He’d honestly forgotten his father was there, as focused as he was on Riddle. _A bad sign, Harry, _he thought to himself. “I would honor his wishes, given that you’re neither.”

Riddle raised his eyebrows and stared back, a mild enough stare by his standards, but it made Harry’s father turn red in the face. Smiling, Riddle looked at Harry. “Which of the two do you prefer? _Admired one _or your first name?”

“Neither.”

“If the two are both equal, then I’m afraid the choice is mine. _Admired one._”

Harry was holding himself back from a truly unfortunate response when the door opened and his mother walked in, carrying a copy of the _Prophet. _Harry grinned at her and held out his hand. Lily gave him a faint smile and handed it to him.

“I assume you haven’t had the chance to look at the paper today, sir?”

“Tell me, _admired one_, has your soulmate come forwards in response to that article?”

Harry gave him a soulful look. “Given what’s been happening lately, Minister, she might assume she’s not welcome.” He handed the paper to Riddle, who nearly ripped it in his eagerness to take and look at the thing.

Riddle went still the minute he caught sight of the headline. Harry leaned back in his bed and savored that stillness, as well as the white lines that appeared on either side of his nose a minute later.

“You _dare_.” The last word wasn’t in Parseltongue, but given the sharpness of the hiss, Harry thought Riddle would have liked to say it that way.

“Of course I do,” Harry said softly. “I would dare a lot more in the name of making you understand our relative positions, Minister.”

*

Tom flipped slowly through the article. The sole photograph was a picture of Harry reclining in his hospital bed, looking pale and interesting, but then again, it hardly needed more than that, given the content.

_MINISTER URGES PROTÉGÉ TO ABANDON MORALS!_

The first paragraphs were pure, breathless Rita Skeeter; they could have put a different byline on it and Tom would have known it for hers.

_It seems that Minister Tom Riddle’s latest protégé, the miraculously powerful Harry Potter, is being urged to abandon his “old-fashioned” morals. According to Mr. Potter, Minister Riddle is all but courting him—and thinks that his determination not to date anyone but his soulmate is less than commendable. The news comes less than a day after this very newspaper reported Minister Riddle’s comments urging Mr. Potter’s soulmate to come forwards._

_“I really thought he was trying to do the right thing and act in the name of true love, breaking down barriers,” Mr. Potter said from the hospital room where he was still recovering from saving Minister Riddle’s life. The latest attempt consisted of an enchanted venom that witnesses said had rendered the Minister unable to breathe. “Why else would he ask me about my soulmate and then publish that information? But it was really all a front._”

_Mr. Potter said that Mr. Riddle was sitting on the edge of his bed yesterday, in a position reserved for blood kin or soulmates. There’s also the fact that Minister Riddle has given Mr. Potter a new flat, made him one of his bodyguards after a single incident that did not demonstrate bodyguard potential, and rammed the pardon of Mr. Potter’s parents through the Wizengamot._

_Mr. Potter was almost in tears about that last one. “I really thought that he was acting out of good will at first,” he said. “But then he pardoned my parents. Everyone knows that Minister Riddle stands for unbending justice. What does justice mean if everyone just gets what they want? I hate to think that his attempts to make me like him are causing him to abandon his principles._”

_Readers may remember Minister Riddle’s past indiscretions with individuals as different as then-Head of the Wizengamot Isolde Greengrass and the alleged, since-cleared, Dark wizard Manfred Gaunefroy…_

Tom skipped past that, which was old gossip and old news, and came to the end of the article, where Skeeter’s conclusion lurked.

_While some may have discarded the old courtesies as, well, old, there is no reason for the Minister to press his suit on the unwilling, Mr. Potter said._

“_I never want to date or sleep with anyone except my soulmate,” Mr. Potter said, the most innocent of tears standing in his eyes. “If that makes me old-fashioned, so be it. I’d rather be old-fashioned than…” And Mr. Potter hid his eyes and could not speak the word. _

_I’m sure the rest of us can speak it for him, dear readers. And I urge you to join me in calling on Minister Riddle to leave the pursuit of Mr. Potter to his soulmate, should she ever respond to Mr. Potter’s appeals. _

Tom looked up slowly. Harry was watching him with a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. Tom leaned forwards. Harry leaned in to mimic him.

“You are a fool if you think this will make me want you less,” Tom whispered.

Genuine surprise blazed on Harry’s face for a second, and then he sneered. “Yes, but I can make it too expensive politically for you to pursue me.”

Tom drew his wand, ignoring the way that James Potter pulled in a stuttering breath and Lily Potter moved as if to put herself between him and her child. What mattered was Harry, his admired one, surveying him with a smile that had a slight trace of smugness to it.

Tom snapped his wand out and straight at the illusion, the _lie_, stretching up Harry’s arm. _“Finite Incatatem_!”

Nothing happened. The phoenix continued to shine on Harry’s arm, and Harry raised his eyebrows a little and leaned back in the bed. “Does it hurt to be that wrong, _Tom_?”

Even in the storm of confusion striking through his mind, part of Tom seized and rejoiced in the fact that Harry had spoken his first name. He slid his wand back into the sheath strapped along his arm and shook his head. “_You have made mistakes. You have left enough of a trail behind you that I am going to find out who your soulmate is._”

Harry shrugged. “Do what you want. It won’t change my resolve or quiet the scandal that’s going to come out of this.” He flicked his fingers against the paper, and his pictured self looked up at him with wide eyes.

“_I am going to find out who it is,” _Tom continued. “_And I am going to seduce your affections away from her._”

Harry sat up further in his bed, but he said not a word, despite his wide eyes. His expression was locked in a mask of stone as he watched Tom walk out of the room. Tom heard the older Potters begin scolding their son before the door was shut, but he doubted Harry would pay any heed to them. Tom would not have, in his place.

The storm in Tom’s mind had become a storm of determination. Never before had he had an enemy who could play opposite him as an equal on so many fields: magical power, politics, manipulation of public opinion, and turning apparent setbacks to his own advantage.

Tom would not say that he was in love. He would not say that he would not give Harry up if he discovered his own soulmate tomorrow.

But right now, he knew that he _wanted_, with a bottomless yearning he had not experienced since he had learned what the mark on his chest meant.


	8. Knowledge

Molly blinked when the wards brought her the news of who was waiting at the far edge of their temporary campsite outside the Muggle town of Manchester. She shot a glance at Arthur as he came up next to her and felt their bond vibrate with doubt. “Why do you think he’s here?” she murmured.

“It must have something to do with James and Lily.” Sirius had bounced up next to them before Arthur could answer. “I mean, nothing else really important has happened lately, has it? Maybe the pardons turned out to be false after all.”

Arthur caught Molly’s eye and shook his head. Molly nodded back. Neither of them really thought Albus’s visit would have much to do with that, but reasoning with Sirius had been almost impossible since James and Lily had left. He was lonely, restless, and determined to “do something”—a bad combination.

“We’ll only know for sure by going and seeing what he wants,” Arthur said. His soul-mark, a bright flame, shimmered for a second on his right arm, and Molly got a wave of his silent strength. She smiled. She did love her man, and ever since the moment their fourfold bond had been completed, she’d never doubted they could overcome any obstacles by working together.

“I’m coming.”

Molly would have preferred for Sirius to stay behind, but it was true that they couldn’t really make him do so. She just nodded, and they walked together towards the edge of the camp. All around them was pavement, asphalt, cold stone and steel. The abandoned building that stood behind them had no trace of wood or anything natural. Molly hated it, but she would have hated living under Riddle’s rule more.

Albus appeared the moment they crossed the wards. He gave them a smile that seemed weaker than Molly ever remembered seeing it, and his eyes had no twinkle at all. “Evening, Molly, Arthur, Sirius. Are the others here?”

“They went into town to steal food from the Muggles.” Arthur clapped his hand on Albus’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, though. Did you want something to eat?”

“A chance to sample Molly Weasley’s cooking is not to be missed.”

But Albus was quiet and abstracted throughout the meal, eating it and praising her mechanically. Molly had once thought he would be at home anywhere, in Hogwarts or the midst of battle or the golden world beyond their created portal or, as he was right now, in the middle of what Sirius said was called a “parking lot” eating stew cooked over a fire. Here, though, he seemed strained and stretched, and to fit badly into the air around him.

He finally put the pot aside and said, “I’m afraid that I have to tell you a secret I’ve kept for a long time. I wouldn’t reveal it now, because I once promised I never would. It’s a case of privacy. But—well, war is no respecter of secrets.”

“No, it’s not,” said Molly, glancing at Arthur. They all sat on Transfigured chairs, although Sirius had taken a stool. He never seemed good at Transfiguration except the kind that had turned him into an Animagus, because he was always _rushing_, Molly thought. “But this sounds especially grave. Is it, Albus?”

“Yes.” Albus seemed to be bracing himself. “It concerns Harry’s soulmate.”

Sirius perked up a little. “Did you find her? I know the poor kid’s been awfully lonely. And this might be the one thing that gets him out from under Riddle’s thumb. The old laws say that no one can stand between soulmates.”

Molly nodded and started to add her own support, but stopped speaking when she saw the grim line Albus’s mouth was set in. “Did you not find her?” she whispered.

“I’m afraid that the Order of the Phoenix has been the recipients of a deception. A deception started by myself and Lily and James for the best of reasons, but now useless.” Albus picked up a piece of gravel from the ground and threw it into the fire. “We have known Harry’s soulmate since the day he was born. He carries the name on his wrist.”

A low sound startled Molly. It wasn’t until she looked at Sirius that she realized he was growling, and leaning forwards as if he was going to leap over the fire and tear Albus’s throat out.

“You’d better have a damn good reason for this,” Sirius whispered. “Keeping soulmates apart is a crime and you know it.”

Albus braced himself visibly before turning to Sirius. “The name was Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

Molly felt as if the world had dropped out from under her. Riddle was Harry’s _soulmate_? She put out a faltering hand and felt Arthur’s solid shoulder pop into place underneath it. Molly leaned on him, shivering, shocky. Arthur stroked her hair with a reassuring hand before he asked, “And Riddle doesn’t know?”

“No. It’s why we encouraged Harry to excel in Quidditch and spread the rumor that his soulmate was female.” Albus’s eyes wandered back and forth between them. “Everyone knows that Riddle thinks Quidditch is a stupid and dangerous sport, and he’ll never look twice at anyone involved with it. And the more people who had the completely wrong idea about Harry’s soulmate, the better.”

“See here, Albus,” Sirius interrupted. “I’ve _seen _Harry’s soul-mark. That giant phoenix on his arm. It can’t be—”

“Do you recall seeing it before he was fifteen, Sirius?”

Sirius hesitated. “Well, no. But I got exiled just before he went to Hogwarts. That’s around the time most children start displaying their soul-marks, anyway.” Molly nodded. It was considered vulgar for people younger than that to flaunt them, especially if they were names or unique images. It was a form of bragging that they already knew who their soulmates were, unlike those with more ambiguous marks who might have to spend years searching.

“That is because he did not have the image then. The phoenix image is a tattoo that Harry received from a Muggle artist.” Albus sat heavily back on his side of the fire. “Harry got it so that people would pay attention to it instead, believe that was his soul-mark, and not bother searching his skin for anything else.”

“He—he got the idea that he should do this from you, didn’t he?” Molly asked. She hated the unsteadiness in her voice.

“Of course he did.” Albus watched her gravely. “We cannot cope with Tom Riddle as he currently is. Do you want to know what he would be like if he gained fourfold magical powers?”

“No, but—_Albus_. To keep a young man from his soulmate…”

“I gave up my own soulmate for the good of the world, Molly.” Albus’s voice was a study in weariness. “I know the sacrifice we demanded of Harry. It is a hard one. But it is better than dooming the world.”

“You haven’t succeeded, though, have you?” Sirius demanded. He had his arms folded so that he was almost hugging his chest. “Harry’s in Riddle’s control right now, and from the way he’s saved the bastard’s life, he might be getting friendly with his soulmate.”

“I cannot prevent the fact that Riddle is still alive, or that Harry might choose to protect him.” Albus was staring into the distance. “I would never have attempted assassination in the first place if I were not desperate. I know that a soulmate’s death causes a wound that does not heal. And I do not want to assassinate Harry now. But I _am _going to keep them apart.”

“Is that why you told this to us?” Arthur asked. Molly nearly jumped. Other than the subtle vibration through the bond that spoke of his calming strength, she had nearly forgotten her husband was there.

“Yes.” Albus glanced at them. “Lily and James—well, I understand how they felt about being pardoned after nine years as fugitives, but it has clouded their minds. They haven’t said anything about encouraging Harry to pursue Riddle, but they haven’t been as open with me as I could wish, either. And Tom is charming. In his company, Lily and James might well change their minds.”

“They couldn’t.” Molly was firm on that point. “Not Lily and James.”

“You don’t know, Molly. They might convince themselves that Harry being happy is the only thing that matters.” Sirius leaned forwards. “You had enough trouble getting them to agree to keep the secret in the first place, didn’t you, Albus?”

“You know me and them too well, old friend,” Albus murmured. “Yes. They were horrified when they saw the name on their child’s wrist, of course, but Lily was at first in favor of finding a way to make it work. Then Riddle revealed his prejudice against Muggles more openly, and Lily changed her mind. But if she did not know that Riddle is incapable of love, then I think she might put pressure on Harry to give the man a chance.”

“We don’t have to worry about fourfold magical powers, at least,” Arthur said thoughtfully. “If Riddle can’t love, the most we have to worry about is twofold. If Harry comes to love him.”

“Even that’s a nightmare we don’t want,” said Sirius bluntly. “But what can we do, Albus? Since we’re living at a distance from Harry and Lily and James now, they’re probably going to have more influence over him.”

“You acted as parents to Harry until your own more recent exile, Molly and Arthur. And you’ve suffered more for your beliefs than Lily and James did, Sirius. I would like you to put pressure on him that way. And tell Ron and Hermione. They’re his best friends, and they were the closest to Harry of all for seven years. That should be enough indication that no one approves of this…union.”

“Does Harry?” Molly asked.

She thought it a sensible, practical question, but it got her a frown and a shake of Albus’s head. “If I could tell that, Molly, I would feel much more at ease in my mind. But I know nothing, I can be sure of nothing. I only know that the last time I saw him, Harry was as much against Riddle as ever. And he could have earned special treatment for himself a long time ago if he wanted, simply by revealing the truth. I have to believe that, despite his tendency to prize lives above freedom, he is still loyal to the Order.”

“Then why do you need us to pressure him?”

“To make sure that he _stays _loyal. That he is not tempted.” Albus held up a hand as Molly opened her mouth. “I agree, Molly. I know that keeping one soulmate from another is reprehensible. But I cannot imagine a better solution.”

Molly bowed her head. She couldn’t say that magic or fate or whatever created soul-marks—beliefs differed—always knew best, or her own sweet Charlie wouldn’t have been left with a soul-mark that was black at birth, indicating his soulmate had died before he was even born. Bill wouldn’t be paired with someone who Molly found far too airy and light-headed, and who had kept Bill from joining the Order.

But it wasn’t faith in Albus or concern about soul-marks and soulmates that made her agree, in the end. She was thinking about Harry, and the happiness that he would need in his life if he couldn’t have his soulmate.

That happiness should include his best friends.

“I’ll talk to Ron and Hermione,” she said softly.

*

“Excuse me, Minister, but I think there’s something we need to discuss that doesn’t concern the law about dragon reserves.”

Tom settled back with a faint smile. “Ah, yes, Madam Moonwell. You had something you wanted to bring forwards?”

Selene Moonwell squinted at him and thumped her stick on the floor. Her daughter Pandora had married into the Lovegood family, but Selene had nothing of the dreamy air that Pandora carried about her. She was a formidable opponent, or would have been if Tom hadn’t been able to predict every move she made days in advance.

“I’m talking about the accusations in the paper against you, Minister.”

“Accusations? I saw none, Madam Moonwell.”

“You _know _that we’re talking about the interview that young Potter gave Skeeter, Riddle. How dare you try to seduce someone young and innocent and faithful away from his soulmate?”

Ah, yes, it was all so distressingly predictable. Tom looked from face to face and caught glance after glance, although their eyes slid away from him a few moments later. They might be letting Moonwell lead the attack and pretending to back her up, but they would be incapable of facing him.

Tom let them see the truth in his eyes, that they would always be unworthy of being his opponents, and then turned to Moonwell again. She had her white hair piled up on her head and her large silver crescent moon earrings dangling from her lobes, but those were only unimportant personal eccentricities. Tom had to see her as the embodiment of the public that would think these ridiculous questions work asking.

“Perhaps you could let me know why you think this is a seduction, Madam Moonwell?”

“The boy all but called it that, Riddle!”

“Yet I don’t remember him actually using the word in his article.” Tom smiled and stood, nodding to Moonwell across the space of the galleries that separated them. “I may have committed a few indiscretions, but I would do much the same for any Auror or bodyguard of mine who had suffered injuries in protecting me. Are you saying that I should _not _have waited at his bedside in St. Mungo’s, or given him more money or a better job for the services he had provided me?”

Moonwell hesitated at that. She knew as well as Tom did that there were no laws against what Tom had done, only customs—customs that some people had already discarded as mindlessly traditional. “I know what I read, _sir_.”

“But I must remind you that the sense of words on a page matters as much as what they seem to imply,” Tom said softly. “Harry Potter felt uncomfortable around me. Very well. I will tone down those behaviors. But that doesn’t mean that I _have _done something wrong, violated laws or crossed boundaries. And it doesn’t mean that I should have let continue to draw his former, small salary or abandoned him to the cold mercies of the Healers without explanation. There is tradition, which guides us, and there is compassion, which I always hold as a higher good.”

That made the people behind Moonwell shift around again. Tom looked at them with a calm, impersonal gaze, and they slid away from it like the cockroaches they were in the light.

They hated him as much as they needed him. On the other hand, they knew that if he was gone and one of them tried for the position of Minister, they would fight until the wizarding world burned down. Tom had amused himself by encouraging their hereditary hatreds, their distrust of other wizarding families, and the pride that whispered to them that no one with the name of an old enemy should command them.

It made them so much easier to control. And it made it so easy for him to maintain his place on top.

“I want to see an apology to Mr. Potter.”

Tom shifted his gaze back to Moonwell. “A public one?”

“Of _course _a public one! You’ve already made the poor boy uncomfortable enough with all the ‘private moments’ that you’ve arranged!”

Tom felt his lip curl a little at the idea that he had _arranged_ for his own poisoning in the forest or the satellite building of St. Mungo’s to fall on his head, but his mind was already buzzing with ways to turn Moonwell’s demand to his advantage. He nodded. “Very well. You realize that this might make Mr. Potter more uncomfortable still?”

“Not if he’s as Light as he seems. He’ll want everything done right and proper, and without any of this faffing about behind closed doors! Keep in mind that you’re _not _the boy’s soulmate, sir.”

_More’s the pity._ Tom nodded and put on the sort of expression they would expect to see him wear, the complicated mixture of thoughtfulness and self-condemnation that someone who had violated ancient customs _should _wear. They thought he was just like them, obedient to the bonds of tradition, because he had portrayed himself that way, as someone who honored pure-blood ways. “Of course, Madam Moonwell. I’ll think of something suitable.”

He turned after a few more conciliatory noises and strode towards the door. People watched him and then pretended they hadn’t been. All of them drew back. None dared to challenge him.

Tom had never loved pure-blood traditions. He used them when they smoothed his path, and broke them without a care when they didn’t. But they formed useful chains for the inbred fools’ necks, he’d admit that, and sometimes that meant a minor concession to them was necessary.

In this case…

Tom smiled. He doubted that Harry, who would, after all, have to bear the brunt of his “apology,” would agree with Madam Moonwell about the proper form for it.

*

“Mr. Potter. Mrs. Potter. Harry.”

Harry clenched his hand around the small trunk he carried that was loaded with shrunken furniture. He had spent an enjoyable day at the shops with his parents, finding furniture and clothes—and books, his mum had been insistent about that—that would suit them and allow them to set up home in the spacious flat Riddle had foisted on Harry. He’d actually managed to forget about Riddle for a while, despite the whispers that had followed them in the shops.

But now, with Riddle leaning against the front door of the building that housed his flat, it came rushing back like an ignored burn that had started hurting again.

And it was a thousand times worse when Riddle stepped forwards and swept into an elegant bow.

Harry felt his whole body twitching. Riddle paying so much _attention _to him, and in the middle of the bloody street where anyone could happen by and Aurors were probably watching, made him feel faint and sick. This was exactly what he had been trained to avoid. Riddle should never look at him, should never know he existed,

“Harry,” Riddle intoned again. “I wanted to give you my sincerest apology that I made you uncomfortable. I should have realized that someone raised in such a traditional environment would feel loyal to his soulmate alone, and committed to a life of pious loneliness when he knew he couldn’t have her. After all, you never even dated someone in Hogwarts. I mistook who I was dealing with. If there is something I can do to atone for my mistakes, you have only to say.”

_Traditional environment. _Harry barely kept from twitching. Of course Riddle couldn’t know what his upbringing had really been like, but he knew damn well it hadn’t been traditional, not with Harry’s parents in exile since he was fifteen years old.

And Riddle had revealed information about Harry’s dating life to anyone listening, information that hadn’t been included in the articles. Harry wanted so badly to step up and punch the bastard in the nose.

_He wouldn’t be so handsome if he had to get someone to set his nose after I broke it._

But they were in public, before staring eyes and eyes that Harry was sure he didn’t see. He had no choice but to incline his head and say, “You made me uncomfortable in the past, Minister Riddle, but I’m sure it was unintentional. And there’s nothing else that I require from you. You’ve already given me so much.”

“Good.” Riddle straightened up. “I only want to help you, Harry. Your full potential has been suppressed by people who don’t understand you, and I have to include myself in that number. I saw that you worked in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and I foolishly concluded that you couldn’t be worth anything. Let me make up for that mistake now.”

The words sounded polite from a distance, and Harry even heard his mother make a faint inquiring noise behind him, probably surprised by Riddle’s courtesy. Harry was the one who stood close enough to make out the way Riddle’s eyes shone. He was enjoying every minute of this, and the lust he had studied Harry with in hospital was still there, too.

“You really don’t need to, Minister. Everything was understandable. I don’t want you to think—”

“There is one thing he could help us with,” Lily said abruptly, making Harry jump. “I understand that you were the one who gave Harry this flat, Minister?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Then perhaps you can come in and advise us on the decorations. We’ve never lived in a space like this, only in a cottage, and it’s been nine years since we had that, even. We have the furniture and the colors we’d like, but we could use someone else’s perspective on how to arrange them.”

“I would be entirely delighted, Mrs. Potter,” Riddle said, with another bow, and extended his arm. Harry was sure that caused some of the watchers to choke, at least if they were pure-bloods. That courtesy wasn’t often given to Muggleborns.

But Lily took Riddle’s arm as if she did this every day and proceeded ahead of them into the flat. Riddle glanced back once, eyes full of amusement, and made a little beckoning gesture with one finger.

“What the hell is she _doing_?” Harry hissed to his father as they followed. If this was some plan, he sure hadn’t been let in on it!

“Something she said the last night in hospital, after you went to sleep.” James looked supremely uncomfortable, but he was moving, not wanting to spend any more time in public than Harry did. “That someone who had done this much for you might not be—all bad. And a person who had been wrong about one thing might be wrong about others.”

Harry’s eyes went wide, but he tried to walk normally, in case one of those watching Aurors was more perceptive than the others.

Dumbledore. His mother was talking about Dumbledore. He had been wrong, as she had seen it, about saying that Riddle would never relent and never pardon anyone who was in the Order of the Phoenix. So Dumbledore might be wrong about the state of Riddle’s heart, too.

“But she still can’t want…”

“I think she wants someone to advise us, right now.”

Harry nodded and fell silent at the implied rebuke in his father’s voice. James was right. Better to deny information to the sharks watching them than to give away something that might get back to Riddle and tell him the truth where nothing else had.

But part of him still burned. He was sure his mother’s intention was to make him happy. It always had been.

But he did not _want her interference._

*

“My husband and son will want a drawing room decorated in purely Gryffindor colors, but I have more sophisticated taste than that, and so do you, I hope, Minister Riddle.”

Tom found himself smiling. “Yes, Mrs. Potter, I do. What do you say about a mixture of browns and reds? Earth tones? It would make the drawing room cozier, and of course the bedrooms could be made up in lighter, airier colors.”

“Exactly, Minister Riddle.”

Lily Potter was an intriguing opponent, full of wide-eyed, ingenuous questions and a smile that never seemed to waver. Tom had spent a few minutes considering what she actually wanted before he decided he knew.

She was trying to decide whether his changes would do Harry good. And if she decided they did, Tom believed she would fully encourage her son to comply with them.

So Tom ingratiated himself. He agreed with some of her decisions but gently challenged others, and cast an illusion of what the room might look like with the colors or the furniture she desired that he knew was beyond her power to create or maintain. Lily Potter’s eyebrows rose higher at that, and she gave him a thoughtful glance as they neared the end of one particularly large bedroom.

“Harry described this as a flat, but it’s more like a house that occupies one floor of a building.”

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

That won him a genuine, if thin, smile. Then Lily dropped the act and asked, “Why do you want my son so badly, Minister? And you don’t need to pretend that you don’t. I saw the look in your eyes.”

Tom thought about it and decided only part of the truth would do. Although none of the files on the Potters had said that Lily Potter had any talent in Legilimency, she seemed the kind of person who would pick up on deception. “I want him because he’s the only magical equal I’ve ever encountered who’s available to me.”

“Available?”

“Emotionally available, Mrs. Potter. It’s true that he’s devoted to the memory or image of his soulmate.” Lily’s face acquired a patina of sadness that Tom found interesting enough to file away. At least it indicated that Harry’s parents appeared to believe the same way he did, that his soulmate would never accept him. “Everyone else who was near me in power has had a soulmate, or, well, been on the opposite side of a war.”

“So was Harry, until recently.”

“He never held the same ideals, or he would never have saved my life. Perhaps the first time, when his was in danger as well, but the second? No.”

“He told me that he did it partially because he feared the poisoning would be blamed on his.” From the tone of her voice, Lily Potter had her own suspicions about the timing of that event.

Tom smiled. “That is what he would tell you, yes. Do you believe him?”

Lily straightened and turned to look at him. Her glance was direct and blazing bright. Tom was glad, for a moment, that Harry had inherited those eyes in different shades. It would have been annoying if Tom had encountered that kind of gaze every time he looked into them.

Then again, Lily Potter was sure of herself partially because she had her soulmate, Tom was sure. Harry had the same kind of hungry longing about him that—

_That I have. _

That would have stirred Tom’s frustration, if he’d let it. How could Harry _not _respond to the kinship between them? How could he not sense it?

“Harry has always been compassionate,” Lily said, stealing Tom’s attention back. “He hated killing animals for potions ingredients. It’s one reason it wasn’t a sacrifice for him to do poorly in that class.”

“He did poorly on purpose. I knew that. Now tell me why.”

From the slight widening of Lily’s eyes, she hadn’t meant to reveal that. But she gave the thin smile again and shook her head. “You’ll have to ask Harry if you want to know the answer to that.”

“I permitted you to ask questions of me.”

“You have all the power in the situation, Minister Riddle, and you’re the one trying to persuade my son to give up some long-held beliefs. There are still things that you should ask him, or it’s not fair.” Lily walked over to study the illusion that hung on the wall, showing what a tapestry might look like here. “I don’t like the blue. But what happens if we lighten the shade?”

The revealing conversation, Tom suspected as he moved his wand again, was over. But at the same time, he thought he had been permitted to learn more than an eavesdropper on the conversation might have guessed.

He had Lily Potter’s tacit—only tacit—approval.

*

Harry turned slowly around to face Riddle.

He had known what his mother was doing the instant she came out of the bedroom that she had been decorating with Riddle and drew his father aside for a low-voiced conversation. James looked red in the face, but he nodded in agreement, and then Lily had come up and kissed Harry on the cheek, before looking into his eyes for a long second.

“We’ve found that some of the tapestries aren’t the right color, darling,” she murmured. “We’ll have to take them back to the shops. Why don’t you stay here and converse with Minister Riddle for a moment?”

All of Harry’s muscles had tensed. “Mother—”

“I think it’s wise, Harry.”

That was the only thing that had kept him still instead of insisting on accompanying his parents. His mother really did seem to believe it would be all right. And Harry knew that she wouldn’t have said anything like this if she had believed staying with Riddle would hurt him.

Even his father had been persuaded, and he would have needed some kind of truth, or he wouldn’t have consented to leave Harry behind, either.

Riddle stepped out of the bedroom the minute his parents vanished through the door. Harry turned to face him, clenching a hand on the new cherry wood table that they’d bought and he’d arranged next to a chair.

Pain and irritation tore across his soul like winds. _Why _did everyone have to do this? He knew very well that he couldn’t be with Riddle no matter what, so why did Riddle act as if it was possible? And now Harry’s parents were in on the act when they were the ones who had told him for years that he couldn’t have his soulmate!

“There it is.”

Harry glanced sharply at Riddle. “What are you prattling about now?”

Riddle’s left eye twitched minutely, the reaction to the word “prattling,” Harry supposed. But he said only, “The way your eyes light up when you’re angry. It makes you look wonderfully alive.”

“Yeah, yeah, everyone praises my eyes, I know all about them and what a _glorious _color they are,” Harry drawled. The few people who had tried to date him at Hogwarts, mostly idiots who had wanted to make their soulmates jealous, had used that word all the time. “But I never thought you would be one to fall for a pair of pretty eyes, Riddle.”

“It’s far more than that, of course. Your intelligence. Your magic. Your refusal to back down and give in the way I want.”

“Then let me keep you from disappointment permanently,” Harry said in a bright tone. “The answer is _no_. Forever.”

“Your mother confirmed that you deliberately held back in school and hid your talents,” Riddle said. He slid a little closer, but stopped and raised his hands in a “peace” gesture the minute Harry tensed. “I only want to know why. I understand that you believe you can never be with your soulmate. But making yourself look small doesn’t seem like a rational response.”

“I can look however I want,” Harry said. “And I knew the moment I realized how powerful my magic was that I would never be valued for myself, only for _it_. So I created a façade that only people who really wanted to value me would see behind.”

“I have. I like what I see.”

Riddle’s voice was husky, and Harry hated the low, warm feeling it ignited in his stomach. He shook his head with a sneer, though. Damn it, he _still _had to do this. Riddle might be as soft as he liked to Harry, but he would still dangerously misuse the fourfold power of a soulmate bond. “You want my magic. You said so yourself.”

“I also said the other things I like.”

“You see me as an _asset_, Riddle.” And it took no effort to put the acid into his voice, because while Harry had abandoned most of the beliefs that Dumbledore had tried to instill into him, others were easy to hold onto. Riddle proved them true with every word he spoke. “Not as a person.”

Riddle’s gaze dipped for a moment. Then he said, “I will admit that I don’t see you exactly as I would see my soulmate. I can give that kind of devotion to only one person. But I will value you only second to them.” And his eyes rose again.

Harry took a step back from the searing desire in Riddle’s eyes.

“And I think,” Riddle went on, voice pitched low, “that all of this stubbornness has a different source than I assumed. I thought that you couldn’t believe me, and then that you didn’t _want _to believe me because it meant you would be receiving tenderness and care from someone who wasn’t your soulmate. For whatever reason, you are convinced that you can’t have that.”

Harry opened his mouth to tell Riddle to piss off, but Riddle crossed the floor between them and curled his hand around Harry’s arm, luckily the part that was marked by the phoenix and not the side of his wrist where Riddle’s name lay. Harry stared back at him, and wasn’t sure what his eyes or face showed, only that Riddle looked satisfied.

“Instead,” Riddle breathed, “you are this stubborn because you are _afraid_.”

Harry snarled, his surprise vanishing in fury. He twisted smoothly to the side, freeing himself from Riddle’s grip, and tried to ignore the burning sensation where Riddle’s fingers had been.

Riddle shook his hand a little, probably injured by the way his wrist had been forced to bend, but his eyes were full of triumph. “You are afraid that you might have to give up the precious illusions that you’ve been clinging to. That only your soulmate and your family could ever love or care for you. That someone might value your magical power and still see you as a person. You’d have to start _living _up to your potential instead of crouching here in a kind of living death. It’s been so easy, hasn’t it, to dim yourself down—”

“You mean dumb yourself down—”

“I said what I meant. You’ve dimmed that light that could have shone from you, and basically decided that since fate’s paired you with someone who doesn’t want you, that means you can’t have anyone at all. Not conservative or traditional. _Cowardly_, Harry.”

Harry took a step towards Riddle with his magic orbiting around his head in small sparks, the way it had during their first confrontation in Riddle’s office. Riddle only watched him with brightened eyes.

And that was horrible, because it made Harry dream about all the things that he couldn’t want, because he couldn’t have them. He tore his gaze around and said through twisting lips, “That doesn’t mean I would want those things from _you_.”

“If I encourage you to wake up, then I’ll have done at least one good deed,” Riddle said. “But you also need someone who isn’t discouraged by that dull façade you’ve wrapped around yourself. I’m getting beneath that, aren’t I, Harry? You need someone who infuriates you because only rage is going to make you burn bright enough to live right now.”

Harry cupped his hands in front of him, and the sparks of magic gathered there. Harry held his hands still, and held Riddle’s stunned, slowly widening eyes, as he built up a rotating spiral of white-golden light, dancing and falling like a continuously moving fountain. It was a picture of his own magical potential, one that students in their seventh year at Hogwarts learned to create. Harry knew both the light and motion of his power were unusual.

And it was private. The only thing more private was one’s bed without a soulmate.

“Here, you bastard,” Harry said. “Take this as a sign that I’m not afraid, and that I accept your bloody challenge. You’re still going to fucking _lose. _I don’t _need _you. I can show my full magic and believe that people don’t want to use me and it has _nothing _to do with you, _nothing_. I have reasons you can’t understand for what I do.” He was panting with anger, the emotion racing through him and making his words stumble over themselves. “Take this. It’s not sacred, it’s not secret, I just haven’t had someone to _show _it to before.”

He was sure, for a moment, that he had passed the irritation point and this was the part where Riddle would back away, he was standing so still. But instead, he paced gravely forwards and stood staring down at Harry’s fountain, glinting with radiance. Harry held his gaze and didn’t flinch as Riddle reached out.

He took Harry’s right hand and tilted it up without disturbing the fountain image. Harry’s heart raced with terror for a moment at how close those fingertips were to the hidden name, but Riddle didn’t seek to wrap them around Harry’s wrist.

Instead, he bowed his head and kissed the back of Harry’s hand, holding their joined gaze all the while.

Harry couldn’t help the way his eyes widened and his breath came faster. Or the knowledge that this was definitely not from anger.

“Challenge accepted, indeed,” Riddle said. His voice had deepened to a rumble that Harry hated finding erotic. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, or how much I want you. Or how fun the chase will be.”

And he stepped back and smiled at Harry one more time before walking out of the room.

Harry dropped his hands and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. He promised to himself that he wouldn’t yield to Riddle’s seduction. It was still calculated, no matter how sincere individual statements might be. He was still the reason Harry had grown up without a godfather for thirteen years now, and without parents for nine. He was still the reason Harry had had to hide all his life and would never have someone who loved him and wanted to be in bed with him for reasons other than increased power.

But the burning sensation of Riddle’s lips on the back of his hand remained, a silent mockery.


	9. Edges

“I wanted to talk to you about a pardon for Ron and Hermione.”

“Who?” Tom turned from his desk to study Harry. Harry had been working on lists of spells that he considered “Dark” or “unacceptable” for most of the morning, in preparation for showing them to Tom and debating why they shouldn’t be used. Tom didn’t expect to encounter many arguments he hadn’t heard before, but there was always value in a genuinely new perspective.

And it got Harry used to being close to him, listening to him, speaking to him. Tom knew well how bonds could be forged between people because of hours like that.

“My friends. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.” Harry braced his hands on either side of the desk as though he assumed Tom was about to attack him. “I suppose you don’t remember signing the arrest orders for them, either?”

Tom sighed. “I only remember it when it’s highly unusual, Harry. The Order is big enough to contain people who didn’t do anything especially heinous—”

“But you said that it _was _heinous! You showed me the part of the Department of Mysteries that they destroyed.”

“And I was about to say that I do indeed remember them, because of the crime they committed.” Tom leaned forwards and felt the thrill that was rapidly becoming familiar as Harry refused to back down even that much. “Has it occurred to you that perhaps they don’t _deserve _to be pardoned? They committed murder.”

“In the name of defending themselves!”

Harry’s eyes had flinched away from him, though, and Tom knew he took the point. He shook his head. “I can make an exception for certain crimes, like the small ones that your parents were charged with, but not for murder. And don’t tell me that you won’t speak to me or continue living in your flat if I don’t do that. For all your objections to my principles, you should know why it makes sense for me to hold this stance.”

“I know that you’re being ridiculous about it,” Harry muttered rebelliously.

“Why ask for this pardon now? You didn’t even ask for one for your parents, or for your godfather, whose crime was one of the lesser ones.”

Harry turned bright red and looked away. Tom got up and walked in front of him at once, his steps steady and slow. Harry was looking at the floor.

“Something has changed,” Tom murmured. “And since the only public things that have were you saving my life and the pardons for your parents, and you wouldn’t brag about the first one, it must be the pardons. Have they contacted you wanting you to secure them pardons, Harry? Have you thought about simply urging them to come in for trials, instead?”

Harry said nothing for long enough that Tom hoped no one came into the office. They wouldn’t understand the silence etching itself like a woven web between them, or what Tom hoped for to break the silence.

“They want to talk to me,” Harry mumbled finally. “That’s all. They want—they have something special to say to me.”

“They can say it with an owl.”

“When your Aurors are probably intercepting my post?”

Tom shrugged. “I’ve rescinded my orders to that effect. You only have to convince your paranoid friends that they can commit certain things to parchment.”

“Hermione would never do that,” Harry said, shaking his head.

“Then I’m afraid they don’t get to say whatever it is that’s so important to you.” Tom smiled. “Think about it this way. You’re certain to learn more important information and have more enlightening conversations with the political figures that you’ll meet at our gala.”

“It’s _yours_. Not mine.” Harry threw him a glance like a dagger. “And this is the reason that I know I’m not important to you.”

“Do elaborate on the logic of your leap there. I’m fascinated.”

“You still treat me like a prisoner, for all the claims that I’m supposedly unique.” Harry had overcome whatever was flustering him so badly, and simply gazed at Tom with steady disdain. “You have me on a short chain. I know that you have eavesdropping spells in the flat. You pardoned my parents to have someone to manipulate me. Hostages, in the worst extreme. You won’t let me communicate with my friends.”

“I would not take your parents _hostage. _It’s an inelegant tactic that backfires more often than not.”

“You won’t let me communicate with my friends—”

“Write an owl to them. I can guarantee that it won’t be read.” Tom took a step forwards and reached out to smooth his fingers over the phoenix on Harry’s arm, the thing that wasn’t Tom’s soul-mark. It always made Harry’s breath catch in a pleasing fashion when he did that. “Of course, if your friends come and talk to you in territory I control, I can’t promise you that they won’t be arrested.”

Harry tried to break his arm free with the smooth twist that he’d used the other day in his flat, but Tom was used to that motion by now, and merely followed it. It brought him around to the side of the desk, and Harry looked ready to surge up from his chair and confront him.

“You mistake our relative positions,” Tom said. He could feel the heat of their mingled breaths between them, and the heat of Harry’s sparking magic. “I am the Minister, and you are—”

“Someone you want to make into a whore.”

The word startled Tom enough to make him drop Harry’s arm, and Harry stood up and folded his arms across his chest. The phoenix shone, taunting Tom. Harry saw the direction of his gaze, and flexed it, smiling.

“You like to throw your power and your _position _in my face,” Harry murmured. “But then you talk about how much you desire me. You want me to sell myself to you for my parents’ pardons and a few luxuries. You want me to betray my soulmate. All the time, both of us know that you’ll abandon me the instant you find _your _soulmate. A whore is what you want, and what I won’t be.”

Tom drew in a slow breath. If he snapped back, then he would react exactly the way Harry wanted. Instead, he said, “The pardons were not meant as a bribe.”

“Then what?”

“A method of showing you that I can be reasonable, and show mercy when there’s a reason to do so. I wanted to change your ideas about me.”

“And why is it so important what _I _believe about you, Minister Riddle? There’s a horde of adoring sycophants all ready to say whatever you want to hear.”

_They’re not you. _But Tom knew Harry would hardly accept that. Instead, he said, “Perhaps I’m tired of them. Perhaps I want the company of my intellectual and magical equal.”

Harry’s eyes were hard as they watched him. Then he shrugged and said, “Your words have already pointed up at least one difference between us, sir.”

“Yes?”

“You think you need an excuse to show mercy. I think one should show mercy at _all _times.”

And he went back to the desk and assembling the lists of spells. Tom tried to ask him more questions, and Harry answered with perfect politeness, but he had withdrawn his spirit into himself again, and he was no longer flustered as he had been when Tom originally spoke to him.

Tom hated it as much as he would have hated Harry declaring that he was going to rejoin the Order of the Phoenix.

Obviously, however, the situation would take delicate handling in a way he had not yet discovered. He smiled slightly when he realized that, and leaned back in his chair, seeing from the corner of his eye that Harry had turned his head a little towards Tom.

_At least he’s intelligent enough to recognize that being a challenge just makes him all the more intriguing. _

*

Harry leaned on the windowsill and watched as the black dog came trotting up the door below and barked peremptorily. One of the Aurors who had been standing guard there since this morning obviously recognized it as “his” dog, and turned around and entered the building. Harry closed his eyes.

Sirius would be coming to tell _him_, now. His parents had received the message from Sirius yesterday, and told him that morning, which was the reason he had been so distracted and allowed Riddle to take the lead in the conversation today.

His friends and other members of the Order of the Phoenix _knew _that Riddle was his soulmate.

Harry’s skin crawled, and he felt his breath starting to come faster again. He shook his head roughly. No, he had to be strong. He had to remind himself that just because Ron and Hermione and Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Weasley and Sirius knew about the name on his wrist, that didn’t mean Riddle would find out. All of them were Order members who would be almost as invested as Professor Dumbledore in him not finding out.

To know that a secret he had protected all his conscious life was out, though…

It made him feel as if he were in the middle of that collapsing building again. With his magic bound.

Harry dried his hands on his trousers and glanced towards the firmly-closed bedroom door. His parents had offered to be with him when he and Sirius had the conversation, but Harry had refused. They’d had their own conversation already. Sirius had been furious that they’d concealed the secret from him, James had admitted. Harry thought he and Sirius needed their own separate talk.

When the door opened and the Auror leaned in to say, “Sir, your dog is downstairs,” the only disorientation Harry suffered was the weird feeling he always got when an Auror called him “sir” now. What made it worse was the disgruntled expression on the Auror’s face. Harry hadn’t _earned _their respect. They only thought they needed to be polite because, for some reason, Riddle was.

“Yes, please bring him up. Thank you.”

The Auror withdrew with a dubious look, and then Sirius bounded in and gave himself a brisk shake. Harry hurried over and knelt with his arms around his godfather’s neck, closing his eyes partially so that he didn’t have to see the betrayal in Sirius’s face.

_Harry, why did you never tell me about your soulmate? _

“Hi to you, too, Padfoot,” Harry said, as he sat back and Sirius sat down next to him. The Auror who had escorted him up shut the door, but not before Harry saw her roll her eyes.

Well, let her. Harry would much rather have gone through any number of cross-eyed looks from Aurors than have the conversation he had to have now.

_I’m waiting for an answer. _Sirius let his tongue loll out, but anyone who knew him could have read the reproachful look in his eyes.

Harry sighed and answered silently, stretching out on his side on the floor so that he could scratch Sirius’s fur. _My parents and Dumbledore told me that I shouldn’t. They were afraid that someone would let the secret slip unless we could keep it to ourselves. And the last thing we want is for Riddle to grow in power. _

Sirius gave a little bark and wagged his tail, but didn’t move away from looking into Harry’s eyes. _And do you still think that, with all the time that you’ve spent with Riddle? _

_It’s not like I had much choice, _Harry snapped. _If Dumbledore hadn’t tried to kill a bunch of people, he never would have found out!_

Sirius hesitated, and Harry thought he probably wasn’t ready to talk about that attack yet, not when Harry’s parents had told him that Sirius had contributed magic to it, too. _I—I never would have betrayed you, pup._

Harry sighed again, feeling exhausted. _I know, but I’m not the one who made that decision. You need to take it up with Dad and Mum and Dumbledore._

_You could have told me once you grew up a bit. _

_And then you would probably have told me to keep my mouth shut and listen to Dumbledore. You know, the way you did the one time I _did _try to tell you._

Sirius raised his ears and scraped at the floor with one paw. _What are you talking about? _

_When I was ten. _Harry rolled on his back and stared up at the ceiling. It was one way to ignore the demanding stare that he could feel Sirius pinning on the side of his face. _I came to you and said that I had something that was bothering me and I wanted to talk to you about it. I got as far as saying that Dumbledore had told me to keep it to myself, and then you said that I should keep my mouth shut._

It had hurt, that rejection, even though Harry understood why Sirius had said it now. It had felt like he was reaching out a hand and Sirius had slapped it away.

_I…don’t remember that._

_I didn’t expect you to. _Harry rolled over and buried his face in Sirius’s fur. Regret filled him like a wound. He just wanted everything to be different. He wanted Sirius and his parents never to have been exiled. He wanted Riddle’s name off his wrist. He wanted to have been born normal, with a nice, normal soulmate. Having Riddle notice him when Harry knew he would never be able to do anything about it was hell. _It’s just, what was I supposed to do, Sirius? Disobey Dumbledore when you thought it was a good idea and keep it to myself the rest of the time? It just feels like no matter what, you would find a way to blame me. _

Sirius whimpered and turned around. Harry lifted his head in time to have Sirius lick his face. He smiled faintly and pushed back so that Sirius’s head was on the floor again and Harry was ruffling his ears.

_I can get past that. I have, you know. I just don’t want you to blame me now._

_I won’t. _The rush of emotion behind those words told Harry that Sirius meant it. He sighed and sat up, scratching absently behind Padfoot’s ears as he stared out the window. He could see the edge of one Auror’s pointy hat as they stood guard outside the doors of the building.

_Always a captive. _It was yet another reason that Harry didn’t think this business with Riddle would work out even if Dumbledore wasn’t in the picture. Riddle guarded him like a prized possession when the only things he really knew about were Harry’s powerful magic and attempt to hide it from him.

_I won’t be a caged pet because Riddle would like his soulmate to be that way. _

_Harry? Are you all right?_

Harry looked down as Sirius nudged his nose up under Harry’s hand. It was no trouble to pet him when he was like this, all wide-eyed and begging with his tail going sideways at six miles a minute. _I’m fine, Sirius. I wish things were different, but they aren’t, and I’m pretty used to living with that. _He hesitated. _Did Dumbledore tell you why he decided to share the news about my soulmate now?_

_He said that he thought you might be succumbing to the temptation to join Riddle, since you saved his life. _

Harry shrugged. _It might be tempting if I could believe him. But he’s always disguising what he really means with these pretty words. I can’t trust anything he says. And he does want to hold me captive, you know. He has me surrounded with guards, and he said that he’d stopped intercepting my post, but I doubt it. And he pardoned Mum and Dad to manipulate me._

Sirius licked his face again, and then said, _If you have to be alone for the rest of your life…_

_I know. It’s not ideal, but you managed it, right? _Harry knew very well that underneath Sirius’s shaggy fur was the mark of a howling wolf—forever unfulfilled because his soulmate, Remus Lupin, had turned away from his friends in horror after what had happened during their fifth year. He’d left years ago to try to find Severus Snape, now a werewolf, and apologize to him.

Sirius wagged his tail a little. _Yes, I mean that, but I also mean that I’m always going to be there for you, no matter what. I don’t want you to feel as though we’re all going to abandon you because the truth is out there._

_I know. _Harry hugged Sirius around the neck, and they lay there in companionable silence until darkness fell and Sirius stood up and stretched. Harry knew he really had to get back to the Order.

_Sirius? _

_Yeah? _Sirius looked over his shoulder as Harry went to open the door for him.

_I love you. Thanks for coming. And thanks for—sticking beside me despite everything._

_You’re you. Riddle is a bastard, but it’s not your fault whose mark you were born with. _Sirius licked his hand and then trotted past him and downstairs. The Aurors muttered and shifted as Padfoot galloped between their legs. Harry smiled a little and watched him until he was out of sight.

Right now, even with his mother and father in the next room and the knowledge that not everyone in the Order had turned their backs on him, Harry envied Sirius. He would have given anything to be as free as that, slipping silently into the darkness and running towards his friends.

Harry shook his head slowly in the next second. He’d lived with this all his life. He could keep living with it. Sooner or later, Riddle’s interest would wane when Harry refused to give in. Then things could go back to—well, if not normal, at least similar to what they had been, because that would mean that Harry was once again not receiving the direct attention of the Minister.

Not receiving the direction attention of his _soulmate._

_It’s fucked-up, you know, that you both want his attention and don’t want it. It’s not even fair to him, what you’re doing. Let him go and find someone who could cope with his possessiveness and his ways of “honoring” someone._

Harry nodded slowly. Yes, he understood. He understood that it was far more of a kindness to Riddle than Riddle would probably grasp. He would do what he could to put Riddle off, but considering that nothing had been enough so far, it might well turn into an endurance contest.

Well, if that was what he had to, it was what he had to do. He turned away from the window and the captive night to speak to his parents.

*

“Why wasn’t I told about this?”

“Why, Harry, I don’t recall hiding it from you.”

“I was told about the gala! Not that I had to be one of the fucking _guests of honor_!”

“Swearing is vulgar,” Tom murmured, but his voice was absent. Harry was staring at him with widened, incredulous eyes, and Tom couldn’t turn away. The sparks of magic dancing around him were subtle if one didn’t know what to look for, white and brilliant, but so small they could be passed over.

“And of course you’re one of the guests of honor,” Tom continued. “We are throwing this to honor recent political achievements, such as the pardon of your parents. That showed that I am not so hardened or committed to inflexible principles that I would reject the heartfelt plea of parents to rejoin their son.”

“Bollocks. You did that because it was me, not because it was your _principles_ at work.”

“Yes? I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Harry leaned closer to him, making the rest of the office, and the fact that someone might open the door any moment, fade into insignificance for Tom. Harry’s eyes were brilliant, too, his cheeks flushed.

“Principles have to be _abstract _to be any good at all,” Harry hissed. “If you just do favors for your friends or the relatives of your friends, you’re not a moral person!”

Tom couldn’t help it. He laughed. Harry narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t withdraw.

“No one lives like that,” Tom said, shaking his head. “The most fervent proponents of justice still make exceptions—_demand _them—when someone close to them gets arrested for a crime. And I know that you don’t live like that, Harry.”

“Yeah? Prove it.”

“Doubtless you would say that you are a moral person because you have a sort of abstract forgiveness you can apply to others,” Tom said airily, and had to hide the pleasure that thrummed like a harpstring in the center of his chest. “But you haven’t forgiven _me_, despite my pardoning your parents, despite my letting you assume a prominent position in my life. This, when you were a spy for my enemies and I could have had you thrown into Azkaban based on my own laws. Who is the more forgiving person?”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he took a step back. Tom controlled the urge to move after him. This was about teaching Harry something. He held his position and the gaze, and Harry flinched and turned away, massaging the back of his neck.

Tom narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t meant to do _that_.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Harry murmured. “I haven’t—I haven’t been as open as I could have.”

Then he took a deep breath, and turned around, and his face was settled again, the crack in his defenses gone. Tom _wished _he could know why Harry had managed to become expert in those defenses in the first place. Just fearing Tom would notice him because of his magic or even his Animagus talent didn’t seem enough reason to go to such effort.

“But every gift of yours comes with a hook buried in it,” Harry continued quietly. “I know that you pardoned my parents to get into my good graces. I know that me being your bodyguard is part of you trying to take advantage of my magic. I know that my being guest of honor at this gala is about you trying to show me that I can have a high position in society if I want it.”

Tom breathed out in exasperation, but at the same time, the exhilaration continued to thrum in him. Harry wouldn’t be half so breathtaking if he’d accepted Tom’s gifts at face value.

“The hook is there,” Tom admitted. Harry’s eyes widened. Doubtless he hadn’t expected, perhaps hadn’t even wanted, the acknowledgment, Tom thought. Harry seemed to prefer it when Tom acted the Dark Lord whose path he’d rejected, probably because that made it easier for Harry to go on rejecting _him_. “But it’s mostly a hook because someone told you that you can’t have these things. Why not? If you manage to get close to me and change my mind, why would that be an evil thing? If you had political power, why would that be more disastrous than half the fools in the Wizengamot having it?”

Harry stared at his feet for a second. Then he said, “I’ll go to the gala. But I am _not _wearing dress robes.”

“Answer the question, Harry.” Tom kept his voice calm and confident. He was sure that he had asked the right question, even if he hadn’t arrived at the right answer. Harry’s evasions weren’t often this clumsy.

“I _can’t_.”

Tom thought for a moment that Harry might mean he couldn’t answer the question, but then Harry looked up in misery, and he understood.

“I can’t have everything you offer me,” Harry said, running his hand through his hair. “I—you don’t understand. Even if the gifts were sincere, I couldn’t take them. No, if they were sincere, you would be a different person, and maybe I could. But I can’t take them. Not in the world as it stands.”

“Tell me.” Tom lowered his voice without moving from his place. “Tell me why they taught you to hide, why they were so frightened about you drawing my attention. Tell me _who _taught you to hide.”

That last question was perhaps a mistake, given that Tom was almost certain it was Dumbledore, and a second later he knew it had been. Harry’s nostrils flared and he stepped back, shaking his head.

“So you could do _what _to them? No, I won’t betray them like that.”

“Has it occurred to you,” Tom said, and gave in to the temptation to inch slowly forwards, “that you could enact laws to protect those you value? To limit my power? To persuade me that those things you believe are right _are _right?”

“What, from the left side of the bed?”

“I prefer to sleep on the left, actually.”

Harry’s eyes flared open, and he stared. Then he said, “You—you’re actually saying it. You’re _saying _that your goal is to sleep with me.” He sounded a little dazed.

“Please, Harry, don’t insult me by saying that is my only goal. But you knew before this that I wanted to seduce you.”

Harry stood there a moment longer. Then he wheeled sharply away and said over his shoulder, “Since I refuse to wear dress robes to the gala, we should discuss what I’m going to wear instead, and how it fits the ‘code’ that you’ve probably set up.” He sounded as if he was using tongs to pick up the word.

Tom followed, a slight smile tugging at his mouth. Harry had once again executed a clumsy evasion. He had to know Tom wouldn’t be put off forever.

But he would let himself be put off for now. Especially since he knew about the other surprise awaiting Harry the night of the gala.

*

“Those look suspiciously close to dress robes.”

Riddle had appeared next to him the moment Harry came through the door of the huge Ministry ballroom on the seventh floor. Harry smiled tightly and tilted his head to the side. “My mother said I shouldn’t ruin my first public appearance with Muggle clothes.”

“Ah, yes, your mother is an interesting person.” Riddle put out his arm in a weird way, like he was trying to hold a drink without having a drink to hold. Harry skirted around him, and Riddle looked a flicker of put out. Only then did Harry realize he was probably supposed to take the stupid arm.

“She is,” Harry said with a bland smile. More interesting now that she seemed, for some reason, to be urging him towards Riddle.

Harry had confronted her about that right after he’d put on the fine, silver-trimmed black dress robes that Riddle’s people had delivered to his door, and had had to endure the wide-eyed, perfectly-crafted mask of innocence that Lily used to hide her intentions.

“You know he doesn’t have a heart, Mum.”

“He doesn’t have one in the way that we would usually mean,” she’d agreed, adjusting the hang of his robes and stepping back to stare critically at him. Harry didn’t understand her. She knew he didn’t want to wear them at all, she knew he didn’t want to attract attention, so why was she acting as though it mattered what he looked like? “His possessiveness over you proves that.”

“Then why—”

“I think his possessiveness also proves how affected he is by solitude.” Lily had tilted her head back to look at him and taken Harry completely by surprise with her earnestness. “He’s lacked his soulmate for decades. I think he’s probably dreamed of how tightly he would hold to that person when they appeared, so you have, well. This.”

“It doesn’t mean I want it. It doesn’t mean I’ll have it.”

“I’m only saying that you should try to understand him and be tolerant.” Lily had adjusted his robes again and nodded as though the fate of the universe hung on how Harry looked. Then she murmured, “Dear one, what if you _could _have this?”

“I can’t, and there’s no reason to indulge an impossible fantasy.”

Lily had paused for a long moment. Then she had sighed, looking wistful and tolerant both, as if she had expected what Harry had said but hoped it would be something else. “If that’s what you want, darling.” She had leaned up and kissed Harry and left the room before Harry could explain that it had nothing to do with what he _wanted. _If he wanted, then he would be tempted, and she knew that.

“Harry.”

Riddle’s voice brought him back to the present. Harry managed to smile and incline his head to the woman who was waiting to be presented to him. He recognized her from various appearances in the papers as Madam Moonwell. She extended her hand to clasp his, balancing on a fine blackthorn cane, and studied him before snorting.

“It’s a fine thing to see young people following the traditions of the past, Mr. Potter.”

Since he didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, Harry merely smiled and said, “I fine that too many people my age rush away from the traditions now.”

“Exactly. Dating anyone _other _than your soulmate! It wasn’t done, in my day.”

Harry bit back a hysterical giggle as he thought of what this formidable old woman would say if she knew that he was, in fact, here with his soulmate, not that it did any good at all. He at least knew the political context for her words now, though. He confined himself to a small shake of his head and a bland smile. “I know I might never be together with my soulmate, but I still want to honor her.”

Riddle stiffened next to him, but Harry ignored that. There was so much about this that was an endurance contest, he repeated to himself. He only had to outlast Riddle, and ignore things that stabbed at him, and resist the temptation to show himself off the way he’d already done.

Madam Moonwell shook Harry’s hand with a grip that left his wrist tingling, and then walked off and apparently ambushed someone else. Harry sighed and looked around, wondering if he could find someone who sympathized vaguely with the Order, or maybe someone related to one of his friends at Hogwarts.

Riddle, though, hooked an arm under Harry’s elbow and towed him towards the middle of the room. Harry rolled his eyes. “Let me guess,” he murmured, while walls that more resembled those of a cavern slid past them, “you’re going to make a speech so unpopular that you’re afraid someone’s going to assassinate you.”

“Not at all. We have the opening dance.”

“_What_?”

Riddle grinned at him in that way he only seemed to employ when he had Harry at a disadvantage and he knew it. Then he spun smoothly, and the music started at the same time.

A waltz. A bloody _waltz._

And they were right in the middle of all of wizarding society, or at least the parts of it that supposedly mattered, where ducking away or pretending to sprain his ankle would be impossible.

Harry adopted the right steps, glaring furiously at Riddle. Riddle looked back intently, his smile fading. All of his focus seemed to center on the places where his hands rested, lightly, on Harry’s hand and waist, and he curled his fingers into Harry’s black dress robes as if seeking a better hold.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “What, realized that I don’t have anything to offer you?” he taunted. He knew that he was a passable dancer, but compared to the masters and mistresses of the art that Riddle would have engaged with, it must be like dancing with a tree branch.

“If you could see what you look like,” Riddle breathed. His fingers flexed and then sank into Harry’s palm, squeezing. Harry squeezed back.

Riddle smiled, but it was a small, luminous expression, full of wonder, unfurling slowly. “It feels like you were made for me.”

Harry nearly missed a step. “What the hell?”

“Perhaps you were too angry to notice. Take a deep breath and clear your head, Harry, and _feel_.”

In his worry that Riddle must have cast some kind of spell that might reveal something to the immense audience, Harry did as Riddle instructed. He had lots of practice with meditation, which he’d learned to deal with the sheer unfairness of the life he had to live. He breathed three times, sinking into his head, nearly abandoning his body, which whirled through the dance without involving him.

And then he felt it.

The magic that always hovered around Riddle had reached out and was brushing soft, exploratory tendrils through Harry’s. Harry’s had reached back, instead of retreating. A slowly-circling warmth had soaked through Riddle’s robes and chest and into Harry, and Harry could hear a pulsing beat in his ears that was—

Shit, it was their hearts beating in bloody _concert._

He met Riddle’s eyes, and saw that wonder paired with desire that Riddle probably wouldn’t hesitate to express in public, given what else he’d dared so far. The wonder might actually be more dangerous, though. Magic wasn’t supposed to _do _this! When soulmates bonded, their power reached for each other’s, but it didn’t happen before then without explicit choice or a ritual. It never happened in the middle of a casual dance.

“This isn’t political for me,” Riddle said softly.

Harry tensed against his own longing to stay cocooned in this warmth for the rest of the evening, and tore himself away.

*

Tom felt as though someone had broken his arm. The shot of pain and shock ripped through him in that way when Harry pulled free and hurried towards a darkened corner of the room.

Tom caught the eye of Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She nodded and at once moved into position, drawing attention by loudly clearing her throat. She didn’t always like or trust Tom, but they worked well together, ensuring that nothing seriously disrupted the political currents of wizarding Britain.

_Harry is a disruption all by himself, _Tom thought, and then he followed, easily able to track Harry even as he moved into the corner that would take him beyond reach of the floating candles and the chandelier in the middle of the room. Their magic, eagerly joined, only reluctantly parted, left a hovering trail that might as well have been one made of scent.

That _did not happen. _Magic in general didn’t simply reach out like that, and neither did Tom’s magic. And from the utterly stunned expression on Harry’s face, neither did his.

Tom ached, one steady pounding pulse all up and down his body, like the united heartbeat that had throbbed through him and Harry. And he was determined that he wouldn’t be going home alone tonight.

What did traditions and morals and honor mean, next to a miracle?

He caught Harry as Harry put his hand on a door that led to a Floo anteroom. Tom gestured and locked the door with a wandless flick of his hand, then sent his magic flowing forwards when Harry turned to face him, fearless and furious.

Their power entwined again. Harry gasped, his eyes widening, the air around him flickering with a dark, blazing aura.

Their heartbeat sounded in their ears again. And something else followed it, searing pleasure that left Tom bent over for a moment. He mastered it, because he must, and because he knew it would feel even better when he touched Harry, and moved forwards.

Harry was utterly tense, standing still with his eyes closed now, floating in the middle of some private world that he seemed to think would calm him down. Tom destroyed that calm with a touch on Harry’s arm.

Heat followed the pleasure and the magic this time, and Harry opened his eyes and leaned into Tom, as drawn as he was. Tom guided him close. Harry took the initiative as Tom was opening his mouth to speak, blurting out a noise of incoherent need and kissing him.

It was _so good. _Tom groaned as tingles raced down his arms, as every hair on his neck stood up, as his arms locked into place around Harry’s shoulders. Harry was sucking on his tongue, sending pleasure leaping up into Tom’s mouth. Harry parted his legs, and Tom came to rest between them as if there was nothing more natural.

Bliss swallowed him, and their joined heartbeat transformed into a steady song, a cascade of triumph. Tom knew he and Harry could have lifted up the entire Ministry right now and turned it into a floating, rotating building like the ones that were said to have been common in ancient wizarding civilizations.

Nothing was like this. Tom shifted his hips forwards, and there was hardness to receive him, and Harry was bucking against him, eyes savage with excitement, and it was nothing like Tom could have imagined.

It _would _be nothing like what he had imagined. Tom broke the kiss and languidly reached up to draw his hand across Harry’s face. Harry hissed in what wasn’t Parseltongue but was the nearest equivalent, and Tom replied in it. “_They will just have to excuse us, darling. Let’s find a bed._”

And then, when it was all going so well…

Harry snapped himself free.

Tom didn’t even know how he’d done it. It seemed impossible, when his arms were so tight and their faces were so close and their magic was so joined. In fact, Tom realized as Harry moved away from him, panting like the Hogwarts Express, their magic was _still _joined. Harry’s mouth had curled in a grimace of pain.

Tom felt nothing of the kind. Probably because he was not fool enough to deny what had arisen between them.

“I need to leave,” Harry whispered.

“And you think that you can when this is between us?” Tom’s hand touched air, but Harry gasped as if stroked. Tom nodded. “We aren’t parting tonight. Stop being stubborn, Harry. It verges on stupidity now.”

“You _can’t _be with me!” Harry snarled, and tipped his arm so his phoenix came into view again. “Or have you forgotten that something like this is only supposed to happen between soulmates, and you’re _not mine_?”

“I forget nothing,” Tom said. “For example, I know that nothing like this has been recorded as happening before in magical history, _except _between soulmates.”

“So it shouldn’t be happening! Someone might have cursed us—”

Tom laughed, and Harry moved a step towards him at the sound, as if he couldn’t help himself. Then he stopped and shook his head violently. But Tom noticed that he wasn’t able to make himself retreat, despite what looked like a valiant effort.

“Oh, no, Harry,” Tom murmured. “This is no curse. You know that as well as I do. This is magic’s blessing. I don’t know why it’s happening, why we seem to be unique, but I’ve accepted that my life frequently points in that direction. Come here, Harry.”

Harry had a strong will, Tom would say that for him. He managed to turn away and undo Tom’s locking charm. His movements were as joined as a marionette’s as he fled, but he did it. Tom admired him more than he could say.

Despite the fact that the effort was useless, since their magic was still one and Harry might as well have tried to run while holding one end of a tapestry connected to Tom’s soul.

Tom followed at a leisurely pace, knowing exactly where this chase would end, willing to indulge Harry, and burning with desire and wonder and pleasure and joy.


	10. Mates

Harry could feel the tug on his soul as he ran.

It meant he couldn’t simply Apparate straight back to the flat. He had to keep making short little hops, resisting the tug that tried to make him turn around and return to Riddle. The magic trailing behind him called out hopefully to Riddle’s magic, and Harry clenched his teeth and ignored the pull.

He _had _to ignore it. He was being an idiot. He had been an idiot to let it go this far. Riddle might be convinced at the moment that the phoenix image was Harry’s soul-mark and their magic mingling had to mean something else, but if he came close enough or took long enough to think about it, he would realize the truth.

And that would be disastrous.

Although, the more he thought about it, the harder Harry found it to think. He nearly turned around and Apparated back in the direction of the stalking, crawling magic coming for him, and then he remembered, in a flash, what Riddle had done to Sirius, and Ron and Hermione, and what he would do to Muggleborns and Muggles if he got the chance.

_But Ron and Hermione murdered people…_

His temples ached. Harry reminded himself harshly that he had to think about more people than just himself here.

Even if it felt as though he would be utterly justified in thinking about himself for once.

Riddle’s magic surged towards him, embracing him and making Harry tremble with pleasure. He gritted his teeth and Apparated again, aiming for his old flat instead of the expensive one. The last thing he wanted was for his parents, who had fought so long and truly, to watch him succumbing to his weakness.

Which felt, at the moment, like what was going to happen.

*

Tom was a little surprised when he ended up outside the building that housed Harry’s poky old flat instead of the new one, but then shrugged. Harry wouldn’t want an audience, and the new flat would hold the Potter parents.

Tom didn’t want an audience, either. He strode forwards lightly and reached out to lay his hand on the door.

Wards snapped and snarled at him. Tom jerked his hand back in surprise and, once again, admiration. Putting up wards against someone whose magic was intertwined with his would have been beyond Tom, but it was like Harry.

Tom leaned against the wall beside the door. Dirty bricks probably stained his dress robes, but he didn’t care. Even his urgency had lessened now that he knew Harry was on the opposite side of those wards. Harry would know that the next words Tom spoke were the simple truth.

“We have to talk, Harry.”

Silence, but Harry’s magic sang around him. He would be standing right on the other side of the wards, probably unable to convince himself to move any further away. Tom let his hand drift out and hover an inch or so away from the wards, and sighed as the pleasure moved through him like a pulse of hot syrup.

“If you don’t want me in your bed tonight,” he said quietly, “then I won’t be there.”

The silence seemed to take on a startled, listening quality. Tom smiled and inclined his head, his eyes half-closed. God, he felt so _good_.

“I don’t want anyone unwilling. I never have done that in my life and I never will. But I do need to talk to you. We need to figure out why this happened and what to do about it.”

The silence seemed to listen to him still. Tom waited. Moments slid past and his patience simply increased, because being with the man who made him feel like this was worth anything.

Then Harry’s voice said, “And if I told you to walk away, would you?”

“I won’t bed you. I won’t touch you. But I won’t walk away, no. You know as well as I do that something like this isn’t an ordinary occurrence, and if nothing else, we need to think about how we’re going to handle the news of it spreading beyond the gala.”

“Would anyone have noticed—”

“Amelia Bones did, if no one else,” Tom said. He had to cut off this fantasy of escape that Harry was clearly indulging. He had indulged it when he fled into the night, and now he wanted to pretend that he could hide again, as long as the rock he crawled beneath was big enough. “And while she won’t gossip, she’ll also want to know what happened. And there were reporters there. Do you really want Madam Skeeter to be the one controlling the narrative that we spread around?”

More silence, but this time it was resigned. Tom wasn’t surprised when the wards came down, and he stepped immediately through the door and walked up the stairs to Harry’s flat. He didn’t bother to knock.

Harry stood in the darkness, staring at him. Tom leaned back against the wall near the door the way he had been on the outside of the building, and inclined his head. His nerves were burning like fireworks, but he had given his word about not touching.

To be this close was…

Was more than he had ever hoped for.

“We have to tell them the truth,” Harry said.

“That our magic entwined? All right. But they will still want to know why.” Tom paused, but Harry said nothing. “And I want to know why, myself,” he continued in a voice that he didn’t have to make a soft, velvety purr on purpose. It simply transformed itself into that. His magic spread through the flat like puddling water, reaching insistently for Harry. “Things like this do not simply _happen_.”

“What if I asked you to walk away and not speak of it again?”

Tom shook his head, and let the flicker of anger he’d felt come out. “You do not owe me your body or your bed, as much as I might want them. You do owe me an _explanation_.”

Harry was silent for long enough that Tom wondered if he was trying to search for the words. Then he lifted his head, and the faint moonlight coming through the window illuminated his expression.

“I don’t.”

Tom plucked at their joined magic, his anger growing up inside him like flame. Harry gasped and backed up another step. This time, Tom followed. He was beyond sick of this, the way that Harry showed him his magic or made some open challenge to Tom or _kissed him _and then acted as though backing away would solve all their problems. If this was a plan of Dumbledore’s, it was the most maddening one Tom had ever seen.

“You do,” he said, voice low. “You know more about this than I. You expected at least this much. I saw that in your eyes. I feel it through your magic. _Tell me, Harry._”

“Why should I, when you’ll use it to damage the world?” Harry screamed, and then abruptly launched himself towards Tom. Tom could never tell afterwards if he meant to attack or to run past him and out the door on yet another useless, futile chase.

Tom’s instincts made him snatch Harry up in a magical net before he could escape. The net swung past Tom, rough even though he would have tried to make it gentle in another mood, and slammed Harry into the wall opposite the door. His arms and legs splayed out, pinning him, helpless. But his mouth was still open in a snarl of defiance as Tom stalked up to him.

“I won’t touch you,” Tom said in a low voice. He was trying to recapture the joyous feeling that had come to him as he followed Harry’s short-line Apparitions across the countryside, but it was swallowed up by the bleak feeling that Harry was keeping the truth from him, probably because of something Dumbledore had said. How could Tom hope to overcome that sort of indoctrination when gentleness and honesty and violence and even their intertwined magic wouldn’t do it? “But you _are _going to tell me the truth.”

Harry looked at him, trembling, until he came close. Then he whispered something. Tom leaned close to hear.

One of Harry’s hands promptly lashed out in a punch aimed for Tom’s ear, proving that the bonds Tom had thought were tying him to the wall weren’t so secure after all. Again Tom reacted on instinct. He seized Harry’s wrists and pinned them to the wall above his head, dizzy with anger.

His dizziness made him fail to realize what his senses were telling him for a long, long moment. Then he stared down and saw the way blue flames were curling up around Harry’s right wrist and licking gently at Tom’s fingers.

Tom felt the sensation that other people had described to him at the same moment. It was as if a wound that had bled so long he no longer felt it had sealed itself. Tom stood there, gasping and trembling, and Harry stared at him with eyes so wide that Tom could no longer read any emotion in them at all.

Tom turned Harry’s wrist and used magic to sharpen his eyes until he could see through the darkness. This time, he could see the broken shackles beneath the phoenix, something he had taken for part of the overall image of Harry’s soul-mark. And he could make out the small letters that curled thickly through them.

_Tom Marvolo Riddle._

Tom looked up slowly, the air around them thick with complicated emotions. Harry was no longer shaking, but he still had those wide eyes. Tom leaned nearer, and he was the one who trembled now, although he couldn’t have said whether it was with tenderness or rage as he hissed in Parseltongue, “_Tell me the truth, darling._”

*

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit._

The word had repeated so many times in Harry’s head that it was starting to lose all meaning. The world had shattered and fallen to pieces around him. The blue flames were dancing on his wrist, where they never should have been.

The truth was out, where he had been sure that it never would be.

And Riddle held him, and all Harry could think was how gentle it felt, despite the flexing fingers that pressed tight bruises into his wrists. Part of him had stopped screaming when Riddle touched his mark. There was silence in his head at the center of all the whirling and the guilt and the fear and the self-doubt. He had his soulmate.

_Who I can’t have. Who could destroy the world with his power if I fell in love with him._

That was one of the major reasons Dumbledore had told him to avoid exposing the secret. He had tested Harry’s power when Harry was a child, and had warned him gravely afterwards that it was excessive.

_Stay away from Tom not because he doesn’t inherently deserve to have his soulmate, but because no one deserves the level of power that you would have together. _

“_Tell me, darling._”

The Parseltongue words echoed in his ears. Harry had never thought he would feel so tempted to reveal the truth. He closed his eyes and waited. Sooner or later, he thought, the last sane piece of his mind drifting on what felt like a raft above deep dark waters, Riddle would grow frustrated with his silence and leave him.

The rest of him, the part that was swimming in those dark waters like a predator, knew this was much a piece of shit as the man in front of him.

Silence endured, and the blue flames raced up and down, their flickering light casting strange shadows on Harry’s eyelids. When Riddle moved, he couldn’t help but open his eyes, hoping he would see frustration there. Contempt. Disgust. Anything he could build on.

Instead, Riddle looked at him with starving eyes and kissed his mark, then released his wrists. The blue flames immediately died, but the sensations they’d brought didn’t retreat. Harry knew exactly where Riddle was as he moved away and headed towards the inadequately comfortable chairs in the center of the room. He would have known if he was blind and deaf.

Riddle lit the fireplace with a gesture of his wand and Transfigured the chair across from him into a billowy one that looked as if it probably came with five pillows and its own full set of lace. “Sit down, Harry, please.”

Harry moved slowly towards him. At least Riddle didn’t seem like he would suddenly pounce and pin Harry against either the bed or the wall. And part of Harry regretted that, because despite everything, he resented knowing he’d be a virgin all his life and wanted to know what it was like to be inside someone, to have someone inside him.

He caught his breath and sat down. It was his weakness that had contributed, in large part, to his betrayal of the Order.

“I won’t hurt you,” Riddle breathed. His eyes were tracing Harry’s face over and over again. “If you could know how long I’ve waited, what I would do to see to your every need and comfort…”

“So that you can have the power you need to dominate the world and destroy the Order, I know,” Harry said irritably, leaning back and trying not to notice the softness of the pillows that his back and arse rested against.

“So that I could spoil you beyond measure. So that I could have someone to love, who loved me. So that I could use all our power to defend you.”

Harry lowered his eyes, because the words did sound convincing, but on the other side, Riddle was a skilled politician who played games for a living. He didn’t move, and Riddle continued in a lighter voice.

“You won’t tell me why you hid, but I think I can guess. You were born with my mark on your wrist, and by that time, I would have been a well-known politician. I’m sure that your parents were horrified, and they immediately reported the truth to Albus. And he was dismayed, but on the other hand, he rejoiced, because he knew the weight of the weapon he’d been handed.”

“They never wanted me to be a weapon!” Harry snapped his gaze up again, and managed to hold it despite how it made him feel to see Riddle looking at him like—that. “They never told me to try and assassinate you or something!”

“There are different kinds of weapons.” Riddle said the words in an odd tone, one that Harry realized abruptly sounded a lot like _joy_. And Riddle was watching him with bared and gleaming teeth, one hand rising to extend towards Harry as if he couldn’t help himself. Harry’s breath caught. He had thought Riddle would try to manipulate him right away, cage him or tie him up or something, but he just seemed _happy._

_That’s no guarantee that he isn’t manipulating you, Harry, _Harry reminded himself, and settled back in place, his annoyed, skeptical gaze fixed on Riddle. From the small smile that breezed across Riddle’s face, he acknowledged it.

“For example,” Riddle said softly, “what would you say to someone forging you into a weapon against my heart?”

“That didn’t happen.” Harry felt as though he’d been tossed from a broom. He shook his head, clenching his hands on his knees. “You weren’t—hurt by my not being there.”

“_Oh_?” Riddle kept smiling, but he also lowered his head like a unicorn about to charge. “I suppose that Dumbledore told you I was incapable of feeling yearning, of wanting my soulmate to be beside me, of being lonely because I had no one when most people around me were paired.”

Harry shivered, a sensation like a song traveling over him. He _wanted _to hear that, he admitted to himself. He wanted to be desired. He’d spent so much time at Hogwarts, sitting by himself while listening to the murmurs of the people around him, and seeing how their eyes glowed when they looked at their soulmates, and knowing he’d never have that.

And he’d experienced the loneliness and the longing that Riddle talked about, too.

_I can’t believe that I’m thinking about betraying the Order again, _Harry abruptly thought in disgust, and tried to wrench his eyes away from Riddle’s. It was difficult. Their magic had lapsed back to twine lazily into the air, instead of an active pull, but Harry wanted to keep looking. He wanted to listen. He wanted to touch.

_No. I can’t. I know why I can’t. It’s not even the sex that’s important. It’s that it might lead to me falling in love, and Riddle would be stronger that way. _

“Yes,” Riddle said. “He told you that.”

“Well, he was right, wasn’t he?” Harry winced the moment he spoke the words. Somehow, they coiled back on him with reflected pain. It was an effort to force himself to speak the next ones. “You—you never made it clear what you were feeling. Just that you would give your soulmate a reward if they would come forwards.”

“So because I do not wear my heart on my sleeve the way Dumbledore thinks I should, I am to be punished?”

Agony sang in the middle of Harry’s chest, and he gasped. Riddle leaned back in his chair at once, face soft with something Harry would have called remorse if he hadn’t known better.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to hold on to my temper better.”

“What the hell, Riddle? Am I suffering because our magic is still tied together?” Harry licked his lips and ignored the separate kind of pain that assaulted him because there was still space between their chairs. This was endurable, he reminded himself.

Riddle stayed still for a long moment. Harry looked back at him and found his eyes narrowed, showing nothing but darkness, no emotion Harry could recognize.

“You are that stubborn, then,” Riddle said softly. “Or you’ve purposefully dulled your senses. You’re suffering because the emotional bond has already begun to form between us, Harry.”

Harry turned away and buried his face in his hands. He could hear his breath rushing in his ears, like the flowing of a flooded river, and he could feel Riddle’s impatience and anger, lapping around him like waves.

Harry wondered if he would be able to explain that a lot of his emotions came from the fact that no one matter what happened now, he wouldn’t be able to disconnect from Riddle and do what Dumbledore wanted him to. They’d told him to act like a good boy, basically, like someone who would never be able to have his soulmate for good reasons.

And now it turned out that it didn’t _matter. _He wouldn’t be able to do what they wanted no matter how excellent the reason was.

He was probably going to end up tempted beyond his ability to endure, just because Riddle was there. He was weak.

And he was free.

*

Tom didn’t know what to make of the emotions crashing through him. When it came to this particular bond, he was as inexperienced as Harry. Perhaps he could have sorted out the feelings if he had felt them one at a time, but this was a chaotic ocean, and he had to resist the temptation to reach out and touch Harry, which he knew instinctively would have made it easier to sail.

But he did understand one thing. It was clear and brilliant and pierced him.

It was joy.

Tom smiled, and he went on smiling as Harry dropped his hands from his face and looked up cautiously. “They denied you any kind of happiness, didn’t they?” he asked, and he didn’t care what his voice sounded like, for the first time in more years than he could remember. “They said that you couldn’t be with me. They said that you couldn’t do anything to ease your pain. They said that you couldn’t try to change my mind.”

“They didn’t say that,” Harry said, but his face was open in a way that Tom hadn’t dared to hope for this early, and the joy still shone in him. It reminded Tom of the first beam of starlight after a storm. “In fact, my parents wanted me to date someone else, to try and get a chance at happiness.”

Tom didn’t bother to hide his crushing jealousy, which would flow through the bond. He said only, “You didn’t think you could.”

“Unless I was dating a widower, how could I take someone else’s happiness away from them?” Harry asked simply. “And I wouldn’t be very good company, knowing I was hiding your soul-mark.”

“You wanted me.”

“I wanted the person you would have been if you had been born with a conscience.”

Tom raised an eyebrow and let that ringing declaration die away into the silence of the bond between them. Harry glanced away, but Tom could see the way that his lips were twitching.

“You should know,” Tom said calmly, “that I have no intention of letting you hide the mark and pretend that this never happened.”

“Yeah, I know. And I…”

More emotions crashed through the bond, and Tom simply waited. He didn’t know if Harry himself fully understood the reasons behind his behavior at the moment.

Harry looked back up. He dropped his hands to his sides, and he stared directly into Tom’s eyes. “You won’t tell them.”

“Anything you tell me will remain strictly between us, yes,” Tom promised immediately.

Harry nodded. “I knew why it had to be done. I knew they were afraid that you would grow in magical power and use that to make yourself into a dictator no one could stop. I know that it probably isn’t magic or fate that _really _makes people soulmates. Otherwise, why would some people be born with black-edged marks? What could a baby do that would deserve that? So it wasn’t my fault that I had your mark. It was just bad luck. I had to live with it, but it wasn’t pain that anyone wished on me. I heard all the arguments.”

Tom moved before he thought about it, although he still didn’t cross the distance between their chairs in case it stopped Harry’s confession. He did send a long pulse through his magic, and it flowed around Harry, enwrapping his shoulders. Harry closed his eyes and shivered.

“I heard that,” he whispered. “I understood all the arguments. And I knew that my parents and Professor Dumbledore were just doing what they thought was best.

“But I hated them for it at the same time.”

Tom swallowed. He thought he might start drooling otherwise. Harry had just admitted something to him that Tom was certain he had _never _said to anyone else. They would have been too prone to misunderstand it.

And he was smart enough to keep silent, while Harry slowly fumbled his way through speaking thoughts he must have kept silent all his life.

“They said people had to make sacrifices. Fine, but they _had _their soulmates. Or they had the chance and then they threw it away, but they never thought they could _never _have that happiness. They wanted me to do this for them, and I was just a kid when it started, and I _hated _it. They said you were a dictator already and you were fighting a war that was on the verge of being declared, and…

“And the few times that I asked about it and asked why you hadn’t started the war already if you hated all Muggleborns so much, they told me that that was a stupid question and you were trying to take us off our guard. They implied I was stupid for not seeing it. For years, I told myself they didn’t use the _word _stupid and I was taking it too seriously, but I still. I resented them for it.”

The resentment burned through their bond to Tom, a clean flame, much cleaner than what the Order and Dumbledore between them had done to Harry. He couldn’t help leaning to the far edge of his chair and murmuring, “You never need to hide that from me. I understand. You didn’t want to question them, but you couldn’t help it. And you had no one to confide in, no one who could understand you, no one who would ever share that closeness…”

Harry choked.

And stretched out a hand.

Tom stood at once and crossed over to take it. The minute their skin touched, he hissed in response. The fire of Harry’s resentment seemed to change to pure, shining flame and leap down his nerves. Tom swayed a little, feeling the pressure of it in his eyes, his limbs, his shoulders.

Harry closed his fingers into a tight knot around Tom’s, the opposite of his words. “Even now, I keep wondering if I did something wrong, if I’m _doing _something wrong, if I’m just creating justifications for myself because I want you so much.”

That was all Tom needed to hear. He tugged hard. Harry nearly rolled out of the chair, then straightened up and frowned at him.

Tom pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around Harry and resting his chin on top of his soulmate’s head. The mark on Harry’s wrist filled the bond between them with its own pulsing now, so strong that Tom could hear it like a drumbeat. He whispered into Harry’s ear, “I will be more than glad to stand between you and them. _Tell me what to say, darling. I would defend you with my bare skin if I had nothing else._”

Harry shivered, a deep motion that seemed to go all the way to his bones. Tom leaned closer and waited for directions, his hands smoothing gently up and down Harry’s back.

*

Harry wondered how he could hate himself for betraying the Order and be so relieved at the same time.

He’d carried those facts, those emotions, around for years without letting them out. What good would they do? He understood why he couldn’t be with Riddle. He didn’t _want _to be with someone who hated people like his mother simply for existing. And he wouldn’t want to take other people’s soulmates away from them, either. There was no good solution. He was stuck.

He’d told all that to Riddle, and he’d expected a rejection. Maybe part of him had been hoping for it. Who would want someone who was weak and pathetic and babbled at you about things that couldn’t be changed?

And then he’d realized that to Riddle, this _could _be changed. There were other options than Harry suffering in silence for the rest of his life. Maybe his mum had seen that earlier, even, Harry thought suddenly.

And Riddle had waited for his soulmate so long that he would probably have accepted a lot worse.

Harry swallowed and closed his eyes. He felt as if the freefall that had started when the blue flames sprouted around his wrists had started again.

“I don’t want you to hate them,” he mumbled.

“_It’s too late for that._”

Harry’s eyes flared open. Shit, he’d been so _stupid, _acting as though Riddle’s longing for his soulmate had guaranteed his parents’ safety. He shoved hard against the sides of Riddle’s arms, but Riddle only eyed him in amusement and waited.

“If you do something like strike back at my parents or try to get them arrested again for keeping me away from you—”

“_It does make me wish I hadn’t pardoned them._” Riddle infused the words with a verbal shrug that caused Harry to glare at him. “No, I do not mean that,” Riddle added in English. “I will say nothing as long as they don’t scold you or call you weak or a traitor or whatever other names are running through your head right now. But I am not going to stand back and let them do that. And I will have no mercy on Dumbledore.”

Harry hesitated. Part of _him_ wanted to have no mercy on Dumbledore, either. But—“He acted on good intentions,” he said. “I mean, he really did think that you would bring a war and start slaughtering all Muggleborns and Muggles.”

“And I really did think that he was an idiot who takes ridiculous risks because of his idiocy and expects others to bear the brunt of those risks. Would the sincerity of those beliefs justify an attempt to assassinate him?”

Harry said nothing. Yes, he had known all along that Riddle would see it differently. Of course he had. Why had he expected any other response?

Riddle poured more emotions at him: longing as distant as icebergs, and weariness that made Harry have to close his eyes. Yes, he had felt those things, although he had always known _where _his soulmate was. But the weariness of knowing that almost everyone else had a partner or the chance of a partner and he never would, that was the same.

“You don’t trust me,” Riddle said. “I accept that will take time.” His voice was as soft as the crackling of a fire. “And I don’t entirely trust you either, darling. For one thing, _I am still angry._”

Those last words dropped back into Parseltongue. Harry would have folded his arms if he could, but he was too close to Riddle’s chest for it. He did stare challengingly right into his eyes.

“I was doing what I thought was best.”

“Oh, yes, Albus Dumbledore’s excuse.” Riddle somehow managed to stare at him like a circling predator even though he was _right there _and already holding Harry. “Which means one that doesn’t make sense. I know that he indoctrinated you with a conviction of my terrible nature, but you’re an adult, Harry. I would have expected some attempt at questioning. I would have expected _defiance_, given what you have shown me, rather than this dedication to living the life of a passive martyr.”

“I thought you were evil!” Harry tried to pull back. Riddle let him go but then just pushed him up against the wall and wrapped his hands around Harry’s wrists. The blue flames sparked to life again, filling the room with a soft, diffused light.

“You are more intelligent than to think a human being simply capable of evil for no reason.”

“Dark wizards do it all the time!”

“And Light wizards who are bent on slaughtering innocents to make a point?”

Harry closed his eyes. The world rocked around him. He knew what was coming, he knew the revelation that was rising in his mind, and he had been trying to avoid it. He shuddered.

“_Come here, Harry._”

Riddle folded him in his arms again. Harry refused to look at him. He knew, he _knew _this part of it wasn’t Riddle’s fault, but he was the catalyst for it, and Harry just—didn’t want to look at him right now.

He’d doubted before. He’d looked at the way no one else in the world except the Order of the Phoenix thought a war was coming, and he’d questioned himself. He’d burned with resentment when he discovered that he had a serpent Animagus form and that meant he'd never be able to pursue training, in case Riddle paid attention to him.

And all the time, he’d forced his doubts down. Other people were making sacrifices for the Order and the war. His parents and Sirius had given up all hopes of a normal life, at least until Riddle’s pardon for Lily and James came through. Ron and Hermione had given up living in the normal world, the “real” world, shortly after they graduated from Hogwarts, and Hermione must have given up part of her innocence if she had killed people.

But none of them had sacrificed as much as he had.

_And for what? _In the end, it didn’t matter. Dumbledore had still told other people who Harry’s soulmate was. Riddle still knew.

Harry shuddered again, and sorrow crept through him like an approaching storm. He wanted to weep, but he wouldn’t do anything so weak in front of Riddle. His life had been a waste. A lie. It still could have meant something if he had managed to hold onto the secret but—no, Dumbledore still would have told the others, and there was always the chance that someone would let it slip.

He’d sacrificed twenty-four years when he could have been doing something else, for _nothing._

*

The bond was heavy enough with emotion that Tom had trouble breathing. And what were almost words came through, etched across his mind in what looked like pure-black letters. _I’ve lived for no reason._

Tom was not going to allow _that _to stand.

He caressed Harry’s cheek, digging his nails in when he realized Harry was too deep in his own head to feel anything. Dazed eyes stared back at him. Tom clenched his hand, and Harry’s eyes and the bond sparked with anger as he tilted his head back, responding to what was almost a call to battle.

Tom had known he could count on Harry’s defiance.

“You have _not _lived for no reason,” he told Harry, keeping his words as fierce and quiet as his embrace. “Never. You have lived because you were meant to be born, because you were meant to be mine. Yes, the deception you lived under did you no good. That doesn’t matter. What matters is what comes after this, here, now, moving forwards.”

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep, shivering breath. Tom watched and wished Harry felt confident enough to cry in front of him. On the other hand, he could (nearly) understand why Harry didn’t. To show that he was, as he’d think, “weak” in front of the untouchable Minister Tom Riddle would break him further than he had broken already.

But Tom had other things to offer.

“You weren’t meant to be a martyr or a sacrifice,” Tom continued murmuring. “They told you that, but they were wrong. I’m angry at you, yes, but because of the years that I could have spent loving you and enjoying you at my side and didn’t get. We’ll still have plenty of them. Come with me and leave any of the Order members who think you should be a helpless pawn behind. They don’t matter.”

“Th-they—” Harry coughed and forced the words out. “They were my friends. My mentors. What happens if Ron and Hermione don’t want to be my friends anymore when they know you know?”

“Then they were useless all along,” Tom said coolly.

“That’s easy for _you_ to say.” Harry’s eyes shone and he wrenched at Tom’s hold, but Tom didn’t release him. Right now, he shouldn’t try to stand on his own. “You’ve probably never had friends as close as I was with Ron and Hermione!”

Tom shrugged. “I didn’t need them the way you do, but think of it this way. If they only liked the person you used to be, then they liked a deception. A shell. A shadow. If they’re true friends, they’ll accept you as my soulmate.” He couldn’t keep from reaching down and curling his fingers around Harry’s true mark again, making the blue flames spring to life. Pleasure danced through him, and he breathed on Harry’s ear.

Harry shivered, but it was a tired move. “I—Riddle, I should go home. My parents will be worrying.”

“After decades of solitude,” Tom said softly, “you will leave me behind tonight?”

Harry swallowed. Tom saw the words strike him, _felt _the way they struck him down the bond, and smiled slightly. “I—I think if I stay with you, we’re going to end up having sex. And I think I would regret it.”

Tom took note of the fact that that statement implied: when they had sex, Harry didn’t _want _to regret it. He smiled and slid his hand down Harry’s face, taking note of the texture of his hair and the way his eyes blinked as Tom’s hand ran by. “My word that I won’t ask for that tonight. I want to hold you in my arms as you sleep, and I want to share the same bed.” He paused. “And I want you to call me Tom.”

Harry blinked wide, glossy eyes. Tom understood. He had splintered tonight, come up against a fact he’d never expected to have to face, and gone through the establishment of the first of the soulmate bonds and their magic intertwining. (The fact that it was _still _intertwined was another reason Harry had been foolish to think he would be sleeping alone tonight, but Tom could forgive him for not noticing in the face of all the other things he had to pay attention to).

“Would you like me to make the decision, then?” Tom asked softly. “To Apparate us to _my_ home and put you to bed?”

Harry licked his lips. Another shudder ran through him, but Tom knew full well that this one wasn’t disgust and wasn’t hatred. “Please.”

Tom kissed him behind the ear and escorted him out of the building. It had begun to a rain, a fine, soft drizzle. Tom cast an Impervious Charm around them and then draped his cloak around Harry’s shoulders.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Harry muttered, stubborn and prideful to the end.

“But I wanted to. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to spoil you.”

Harry hesitated for a long moment. Tom waited. He did want to Apparate them, he did want to lay Harry in a bed and lie down himself with his arms wrapped around him, but Harry was struggling to say or do something, and Tom wanted to know what it was.

Harry turned to face him, gaze watery but determined, and leaned forwards. Tom met him halfway, the kiss considerably less violent than the one they’d shared at the Ministry gala. This was a flicker of warmth in the middle of the storm, and Tom’s hand stroking down Harry’s cheek, and a promise of what was to come.

Harry leaned his head on Tom’s chest and closed his eyes. Tom Apparated them, holding Harry close, his heart racing with tenderness and triumph.

There was a hard road still ahead, but to know that he would not walk it alone would be worth every moment.


	11. Awakenings

“James, what are you doing? Come to bed.”

Lily knew perfectly well what he was doing, of course. The bond between them throbbed anxiously, the way part of it always had since the day Harry was born. But this particular emotion had sharpened as the hours passed and Harry didn’t return.

“It’s okay, Lily-Bell. You go to sleep. I’ll just—stay up. I want a cup of tea.”

“Yes, you really look as if you’re going to do that when you’re standing in front of the window, James.”

James started and turned to look at her guiltily. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and glanced out the window.

“I—I just think it’s not like Harry to stay out this late. He never did it when he was a child.”

“We’ve been gone for years,” Lily said, and held out her hand. “Maybe he does this all the time now. We should go into the kitchen if we’re going to make tea, James. And then I think we ought to have a talk.”

“Who’s he staying out late _with, _that’s what I’d like to know,” James muttered under his breath as they entered the kitchen. Lily Summoned the kettle out of the cupboards where Riddle’s people had placed it, and James began distractedly to make the tea, just the way he always had in the Order’s camp. “You know very well that he won’t date someone no matter how much we try to urge him to do it—”

“I think it’s Riddle.”

“Oh. You mean they just stayed late at this stupid Ministry gala and Riddle wouldn’t let Harry leave?” James relaxed, and his hands began to actually prepare the tea-leaves instead of tear them to shreds. “Why didn’t you say?”

“I think he’s _with _Riddle.”

“You said that—oh.” For a second, James froze, and Lily cast a spell to actually hold the kettle in midair instead of having it splatter all over the floor. Then James cursed, soft and fervent, and took over control of the spell from her.

“Why would he do that now, though?” James asked in a low voice. He kept his head bowed so that Lily could see nothing but a gleam from the side of his glasses. “After so many years of hiding from him and putting the fate of the world first, why would he succumb to temptation _now_?” He cursed again as the two cups he’d Summoned nearly hit the wall and shattered, and had to work for a second on guiding them to a smooth landing on the counter.

“Precisely because we’ve asked it of him for so long,” Lily said softly. She could feel the heartache pouring from James down the bond, mixed with shadowy resignation. He knew he couldn’t do anything at the moment to affect Harry’s choices and he was uncertain if he should even try, while still feeling pulled by his old loyalty to the Order.

It wasn’t just their emotional bond that let Lily feel what he was feeling so well. The questions he was asking, the temptations he was fighting, were hers.

Lily came to him and curled an arm around his shoulders. James let out a low sound and leaned against her.

“I think,” Lily whispered, “that we have to stop worrying about what the Order will say, and Albus, and Molly and Sirius and Arthur and Harry’s friends. We have no influence on them. We have the responsibility to see our son well and happy.”

“But that’s exactly what he won’t be if he sides with Riddle!”

“Think about it this way, James. If you found out after you started noticing me that I was Dark and wanted to work for Riddle’s government, would you have resisted the bond with me?”

James closed his eyes. Lily stood with her hand on his shoulder, ignoring the nagging worry that the tea was getting cold. There were such things as Warming Charms.

James finally whispered, “I would be so…I would be upset, but I think I would choose you, even if I never agreed with the government you worked for and we could never discuss it in private. I would choose you.”

Lily kissed his brow. “I know I would do the same.” Then again, she had never believed in the greater good as much as James and had always been a bit of a rebel, so the choice wouldn’t have been as hard for her. Only the fear that Riddle would destroy her and all people like her had let her agree with Albus that it would be a good idea to disrupt a soulmate bond. “And we can’t make the choice for Harry, James. We have to let him stand on his own.”

“I don’t think Riddle is good for him.”

“Not everyone works out, of course,” Lily agreed quietly. There had been a living example of that close to them for more than twenty years, since Sirius had done something Remus, his soulmate, found unforgivable. “But Harry needs to decide that for himself.”

James held her and said nothing. Then he whispered, “Lily-Bell, if it turns out that Harry and Riddle are compatible and Harry can even rub some of the rough edges off Riddle—then how are we going to face the guilt that we kept them apart for all those years?”

“You know Harry would never demand repayment for that, James.” Lily was less certain about Riddle, but she _was _certain that Harry would never let his soulmate harm them.

“I’m not talking about what kind of payment he would demand, Lily. I’m talking about how we’re going to live with ourselves.”

“The way we do now.” Lily hugged him and rubbed his back, resting her head on his shoulder. “One day at a time.”

*

“My dear girl. I am afraid I may need your help.”

Hermione glanced up from the book she’d been revising, not really surprised to hear the Headmaster’s voice coming out of a crystal that he had given her years ago. Most of the Order no longer carried those communication crystals, since they were pretty good about meeting with Professor Dumbledore in hidden times and places. But Hermione was both not as good at Apparating as some members of the Order and wanted for a worse crime, so they had all agreed it was best if she stayed in the world beyond the portal and used the crystal.

Hermione put the book down on the little wooden table next to her and picked up the crystal, a stone as big around as her fist and colored like rose quartz. “Yes, sir, I’m here. What is it? Ron and I haven’t had a chance to talk to Harry yet.” There was no way they were going to say what should be said in an owl that Riddle could intercept, when the whole _point _was to keep it from the bastard.

“I’m afraid that Riddle may know he’s Harry’s soulmate.”

Hermione felt herself freeze, and the crystal nearly wobbled out of her hold and crashed on the floor. She hastily grabbed it and swallowed slightly. “How do you know, sir?”

“I have a spy in the Ministry who reported that both Harry and Riddle left the gala they were at early last night, and within moments of each other. Their magic also entwined on the dance floor.”

Hermione breathed out. She and Ron hadn’t got to that step until after they were emotionally bonded, even though they had known for years that they had each other’s soul-mark. Hermione had been unhappy at the thought of being bound to someone she didn’t get to choose, even if she loved Ron, and unhappy at the thought that people would assign her more worth than other Muggleborns just because she was bonded to a _pure-_blood.

“Would Harry turn his back on everything he believes in like that, sir?” she asked. “I mean, maybe their magic entwined but Harry hasn’t told him yet.”

“I’m afraid that even if he didn’t, Riddle would have forced the truth from him by now,” Professor Dumbledore said. His voice was so weary that Hermione wanted to weep for him. “Such an unusual event needs an explanation, and Riddle won’t rest until he finds it.” He paused, and Hermione wrenched her mind away from the thought of what might be happening to Harry right now.

“So what do you want us to do, sir?”

“I’m going to ask you to take a risk, Hermione. Owls won’t get through to Harry, and it’s extremely unlikely that Tom will allow his soulmate near anyone he thinks might convince him otherwise. Go into the wizarding world. Take Ron with you. Use whatever means you have to get near Harry and speak to him about what he’s doing concerning the future of the wizarding world.”

Hermione swallowed. It would be a risk. She had never seen anyone as furious as Riddle had been, at least according to the front page of the _Prophet_, after she and Ron had raided the Department of Mysteries and got away with it. He hadn’t made extravagant promises about what would happen to them if they were caught. The article had mainly been about the damage to the Department, and Riddle’s own quote had been limited to the issuance of the arrest order.

But it didn’t need to be more than that, not with the expression in those dark eyes.

Hermione, though, was willing to take the risk. Riddle had plans in motion that could erase the minds of people like her parents, and change the past so that Professor Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix would never have existed. There had been rumors of worse, and…

Hermione glanced across the room. One book rested on the shelf with the others, but its cover was worn and shiny in a way none of the others were, even the ones that had been with Hermione for years.

“Miss Granger? Are you there?”

Hermione smiled a little desperately as she turned back to the crystal. Things had got bad when Professor Dumbledore was calling her by her last name. She had granted him permission to use her first one long ago. “I’m here, sir. And I’m going to take the risk.”

The sigh that came through the crystal seemed intense enough to have fluttered hangings on the wall, if Hermione had had any. “And Mr. Weasley?”

“Ron will want to be in on this as well. He really cares about Harry.”

“Thank you, Hermione. Please let me know when you plan to venture into the wizarding world. It may be that I can create a distraction that will keep the Aurors occupied and let you get closer to Harry.”

“I’ll do that, sir.”

Hermione waited until the crystal darkened and then glanced towards the front of her tent. “I can tell that you’re there, Ron.” He was always telling her that he knew where she was and what she was thinking because of the soulmate bond. Well, that ran both ways. He should know better than to think she would ignore him.

Ron folded the tent flap back and came in with a slightly embarrassed face that Hermione determined to ignore. “Do you really think that Harry would have been with _him_, Hermione? I mean, Riddle’s a madman!”

Hermione sighed. “No, he isn’t, Ron. Things would be easier if he was.” It would have been a lot easier to convince other people that Riddle was dangerous and bent on genocide, for one thing. And he never would have gained the power in the Ministry that he had.

_It would be easier to talk Harry out of falling in love with his soulmate._

Hermione had felt a sense of inevitability when Professor Dumbledore had told them the truth about Harry’s soul-mark. Of course she understood now why Harry had covered it, until he “suddenly” revealed the phoenix in their fifth year, and his reluctance to date anyone or discuss his love life. He must have been so afraid of someone seeing the real mark and spreading the word around.

Which made it harder to understand, now, why he would have disregarded all the Order’s advice and twenty-four years of stubborn loyalty and simply tumbled headlong into love with Riddle.

But the man must be charming at close range, or if you weren’t Muggleborn. And Hermione could grasp the way the Order’s crusade looked from the outside. They would have seemed mad, unless they had the knowledge of Riddle’s ultimate plans that he kept as state secrets.

“Well, fine,” Ron said, drawing her out of her thoughts. “Not a madman, then. But Harry must be mad for giving in!”

Hermione nodded. Honestly, to her this sudden change spoke of charms or a potion. Harry had been wonderful at throwing off the Imperius Curse—tested on all students Hogwarts when they were fourth-years, one of many “innovations” that she hated—but that didn’t mean something subtler would leave him unscathed.

“When are we going?”

Hermione smiled and stretched her hand out. Ron clasped it. The bond between them throbbed and danced like a Muggle wire in the wind. This was the kind of devotion that Hermione had always prized between them, the way they could move like one mind, because in many ways they were.

“I think tomorrow might do, given the security arrangements we’ll have to make.”

Ron nodded and kissed the back of her hand. Hermione’s heart sang with the proof of his devotion and her mind sang with sorrow that Harry would never be able to know this.

Riddle might seem to offer it, but Riddle’s gifts were always tainted. Harry was probably overwhelmed now. He would need the perspective that only his best friends could provide.

*

Harry opened his eyes slowly.

It was strange, because he didn’t care that much for the luxury of the sheets that wrapped around him, or the softness of the pillow beneath his cheek. But this awakening was still precious, unique, unprecedented.

Because his soulmate’s arms were around him, and Harry could feel the contentment that surrounded them like a warm lake.

He opened his eyes and tilted his head back. Riddle was lounging behind him, head lifted at what had to be an uncomfortable angle. He must have been watching Harry sleep for hours. Harry could feel himself blushing. Wouldn’t it—

“Nothing is too much effort for you.”

Harry nodded slowly. He believed that in a way that he had never believed anyone else, and that made him wary, but on the other hand, he didn’t have an emotional bond with them of the kind that he had to Riddle, either. It was impossible to lie when Harry knew the bond would sing out around him about any deception it discovered.

“I do have a request,” Riddle breathed against his ear.

Harry closed his eyes as he felt the stirring between his legs. It wasn’t even so much the warmth, just the feeling of someone focused on him and _only _him and not caring about the greater good or the Order or other people or the faceless masses that he had to sacrifice his soulmate to save.

That was over, now, for good. There was no _Obliviate _strong enough to break the emotional bond and force Harry back into hiding, and he knew it.

“What’s the request?” he asked quietly, bending his head towards Riddle’s chest.

“That you call me Tom.”

Harry hesitated. He had thought of the man by his surname for so long that he thought “Tom” would taste strange on his tongue.

On the other hand, he wouldn’t know until he tried it, as Dad would say about all the foods that Harry had tried to refuse when he was a child.

“Tom,” he said.

Tom drew in his breath so sharply that he sounded like he was about to faint. Stunned, Harry stared at him, and felt the emotion that came flowing down their bond, as thick as tar. Hunger.

Tom wanted to pin him to the bed and _devour _him. And now Harry knew exactly how much.

*

Tom wanted to lower himself onto Harry and kiss him so intensely that it was painful to pull away.

But Tom had learned to take the long view—it was the one virtue of spending decades alone—and he knew that there would be regret if he did that. Harry would probably regard this as adolescent fumbling, exactly the kind that he had avoided for so long. Tom intended that their first time together ignite a hunger in Harry that would never fade and would answer his.

Tom contented himself with a light kiss on the cheek and feeding more hunger down the bond. Harry’s cheeks were richly flushed now, and he looked away after a second, shaking his head. “Keep that up and I won’t be able to walk to breakfast,” he murmured.

“What makes you think you need to walk?” Tom turned and gestured with one hand. His well-trained house-elves recognized the gesture and popped in the breakfast that he’d silently requested. “We can eat here.”

Harry blinked. “It feels—decadent.”

“Not half as decadent as it could be,” Tom said. “I meant it when I said I wanted to spoil you. But I know there would be too much, too soon, if I pressed now. So we’ll start with breakfast in bed, and ease up on real decadence later.”

Harry smiled faintly, a rapid flick of his lips that Tom immediately fixated on. He was sure that few people had ever seen it. Then again, Harry had held himself aloof from most people for fear that someone would find out his secret.

“What are you angry about _now_?”

The bond stung with exasperation, and Tom looked hard at Harry. Harry was picking up a chocolate-covered strawberry between two fingers and watching him with a hardness of eye that Tom could have waited a long time to see from his soulmate.

“That you obeyed them for so long.” Tom leaned back and let his hands rest on either side of the breakfast tray. He wanted answers more than he wanted food. “Why _did _you go along with them for so long? Even after you began to have doubts?”

“Because other people made sacrifices, too.”

It wasn’t the answer Tom had expected, and he blinked, leaning forwards. “Explain to me what that means.”

“So many people gave up a normal life to struggle against you,” Harry said quietly, gaze fixed on the strawberry instead of him. “Perhaps you’re not the monster they painted you as, but you _have _done things that made them question you, made them hate you. How could I complain about what I had to live with when they were existing as fugitives? I gave up less than they did.”

“Freedom, and your life, and the ability to tell the truth, and your _soulmate._” Tom hissed the last word in Parseltongue; he couldn’t help himself. “You were the only one who had to do _that_.”

“Not even that’s true.” Harry popped the strawberry into his mouth and offered Tom a different kind of grin, one that had self-loathing in it. “Professor Dumbledore gave up his soulmate once he realized that there was no way to make Grindelwald turn back from the path of a Dark Lord.”

“But he never _hid _from him,” Tom said, and saw Harry flinch. His anger would be raining down the bond like sleet, and he knew it. But he couldn’t spare Harry, not now. The thing about Dumbledore’s deception was that it had so nearly _worked_.

If Harry hadn’t acted to save Tom’s life that day in the St. Mungo’s satellite building—if he hadn’t been there—if Dumbledore had never tried to assassinate Tom but on the other hand Harry had never come to his attention, or had and then had run away before Tom could find out what he was—

It would have worked. He would have spent the rest of his life in crippling pain and loneliness.

“No, he did something harder,” Harry said, and his eyes were full of admiration that made Tom want to hold Dumbledore under the Cruciatus. “He gave up on the bond after it was already established. I never had to do _that_.”

“And you’ll never get the chance, either.” Tom couldn’t help himself. He reached forwards, spilling the breakfast tray onto the sheets, and gripped Harry’s hands, and pinned them down on the pillow above his head. The blue flames curled around his fingers, singing, as he touched Harry’s mark again, and the pleasure that mimicked the physical bond they hadn’t created yet shuddered beneath him. Harry was gasping, but still folded up his legs in a way that prevented Tom from leaning as close as he liked, and his eyes were still full of flame that more than matched the blue ones. “I will _never _back off. I will never let you go now. _Do you understand_?”

*

“I understand that you sound insane from the possessiveness.”

Harry didn’t know where he found the strength to utter the words. Part of him was rejoicing in all the emotions that Tom was sending down the bond. He was _wanted_. He was _desired. _No one was telling him, regretfully, that he couldn’t have this. No one was touching their soulmate’s face delicately in front of him and then telling him he had to be alone for the rest of his life.

But the rest of him remembered the high-handed way that Tom had tried to bring Harry into his life long before he knew they were soulmates. How he had planned to seduce him and sleep with him just because he could. The newspaper articles. The manipulative pardons for his parents.

And his Merlin-damned voting record.

“_Disagree with me, then,_” Tom hissed in Parseltongue, leaning in until his body was pinning Harry beneath him. Harry ignored the urge to open his legs and accept Tom between them. That was just a distraction right now. “_Fight with me. Argue with me about why I should change. But don’t leave me. And don’t hide again._”

“I don’t see how I could even if I wanted to,” Harry pointed out, irritably. “I’m not strong enough to use a Memory Charm on you, and I don’t know of anything that can break an emotional bond once it’s in place.”

“_Yes.” _Once again, Harry felt a wave of that smugness pour over him. He shook his head and uncurled his legs, pushing Tom away.

“Ew,” he added, as his elbow came down in the middle of a bowl of smashed strawberries. “Call another house-elf and have them make us more breakfast.” Through his head, briefly, there flashed an idea of what Hermione would say about him casually taking advantage of a house-elf’s service, but he ignored the thought. He didn’t even know if his friends were going to be his friends anymore.

_Did I give up the love of everyone I know to have my soulmate_?

Harry took a deep breath and reminded himself that he hadn’t seen much of Ron and Hermione in the past few years, since they’d made that attack on the Department of Mysteries and then fled to join the other fugitive Order members. And if they were good friends, as Tom had suggested, then they wouldn’t abandon him without listening to him.

_Can I make an argument good enough to explain to Hermione why I’m with someone who wants to commit genocide on anyone like her, though?_

“I do not enjoy the tenor of your thoughts.” Tom drew back, but kept his hand curled around Harry’s right wrist, stroking the mark with his fingers in an absent-minded way, the way he might do with a cat who had fallen asleep next to him. “We need to have a long discussion, I think, about why my voting record actually means, and what I think about Muggleborns, and what I meant when I said politics was a game.”

“Yes,” Harry said quietly. He hesitated. “If it’s too difficult, then you _could _let me go.”

Tom stared at him. There was a gleam of red in his eyes, and Harry felt a tremor in his arm that he thought was Tom being a moment away from gripping his wrist with crushing strength and only restraining himself at the last moment.

“You think I _fear _an argument with you?”

“I think that if you’re going to spend the rest of your life debating me, you might have more peace if—”

Tom jerked hard on his wrist. Harry snarled and tried to roll with the motion, thinking it was the beginning of an attack, and then ended up pressed against Tom’s chest, Tom’s arms clasped around him, listening to the rushing of the man’s breathing and the beating of his heart.

“_I know what peace means,_” Tom breathed into his ear. “_It means loneliness. I spent long years thinking that I knew exactly what kind of person my soulmate would be like, and what I would need to do to win and keep them when I found them. You’re different from anyone I could possibly have imagined, but I don’t care. I’m going to _keep _you, and do whatever I have to do to do that._”

Harry nodded against Tom’s chest. Honestly, he’d expected that to be the result when he offered to leave. He wondered if he’d even hoped that Tom would refuse, because he wanted to be coddled and petted and spoiled and—

He grimaced. Tom immediately cupped his chin in one hand and stared him in the eye.

“_What is the matter_?”

“Now it’s my problem with decadence.” Harry shrugged with one shoulder and tried to keep his voice light, but Tom’s stare told him he wasn’t getting away with it. “I wonder if I’m going to keep asking questions like that, testing you and acting as if I want to push you away even though I don’t, because I want to hear you declare that you never want to leave me.”

Tom kissed him, something so deep that Harry felt his head spin. Tom pulled back eventually, when Harry probably would have run out of air otherwise, and purred into his ear, “I don’t mind answering that question. Push as much as you want. Ask as much as you want. You haven’t reached _nearly _the limit of what I want to give you.”

Harry slowly nodded. Then he said, “I think we still need to have that discussion. And breakfast somewhere other than a sticky bed.”

“Yes, unfortunately, given that we can’t make the bed sticky the way I like.”

Harry flushed brilliantly and tried to ignore the fact that Tom had been close enough to him to feel the result of his arousal already anyway. He got up and held out his hand to Tom, who claimed it with a tug and flowed off the bed easily himself.

“Come to the kitchen. The house-elves will be happy to have more than one person to serve.”

*

Harry sat down in the chair across the table from Tom, his eyes brilliant and his mouth set in a line that Tom was frankly thrilled to see. Harry acting meek or boorish—the way he had when he’d thought he could avoid Tom’s notice or make him back off—was the wrong way for him to act. Tom wanted to go through a thousand arguments with him rather than avoid them and end up losing him to one of those unfinished fights.

“So,” Harry said. “I think we’ll start with murder.”

Tom only raised an eyebrow. Harry was also going to find out that he wasn’t easy to shock. Harry lifted the lid off a platter of scrambled eggs and stared at it for a moment as if he assumed that perfect food was something that only happened in stories, then shook his head and helped himself.

“I assume you mean the murder of those helpless individuals that your friends brought down the roof of the Department of Mysteries on? We can certainly do that. What would they try to say to justify it to you?”

Harry shot him a narrow-eyed glance and went on eating. He waited, deliberately, until he had swallowed to say, “No. Those people you murdered who burned your soul-mark off your chest.”

“Yes.” Tom smiled. “Let’s discuss them.”

Harry paused. Then he said, in a tone of wonder somewhat obscured by the fact that he was forking more eggs into his mouth, “You don’t have any regrets at all, do you?”

“No,” Tom said. “I don’t wake up every day and hug myself with glee over what I did, but neither do they trouble my dreams.”

“You _killed _them. And their families, who never did anything to you.”

“I wrote to their families for justice. And their families laughed at me and told me they would kill me, not just burn the mark off my chest, if I protested to them any more than I had.”

“I…”

Harry looked shocked. Tom focused on the bond. Yes, the shock was real, pouring like cold water down the link between them.

Harry was feeling at him in the same way, and he closed his eyes for a second. He would have felt the sorrow, the loss, Tom knew. Both when Tom had thought having his soul-mark burned off might mean that he would never actually have his soulmate—have someone who wanted to be _with_ him, _for _him—and the fact that when he had spoken up, no one had believed him.

“Why did no one believe you?” Harry whispered. “You—you must have seen their faces.”

“Yes. And they were Slytherin pure-bloods, but still sixth-years. They hadn’t had their seventeenth birthdays. That meant they were protected by their families and couldn’t be forced to take Veritaserum. Professors kept saying that they had to believe them, because there were two of them and only one of me, and their alibis complemented each other. No one seemed to notice how _perfect _those bloody alibis were.” Tom breathed air heated by six decades of hatred. “I put memories in a Pensieve. Professors said I must have altered them. Dumbledore kept shaking his head sadly and saying that I must be making up false tales out of jealousy.”

“Jealousy?” Harry whispered.

“They both had their soulmates. Supposedly I had gone insane from the loss of my soul-mark and I was jealous.”

“So when you killed them…”

“Their soulmates committed suicide a few years later.”

Harry looked away from him. “So you sacrificed them,” he whispered. “And their families.”

“They sacrificed _me_, too, to their children’s sadism.” Tom smiled, and he knew that Harry was flinching from what was flowing down the bond right now. He didn’t care. Harry _would _understand who he was dealing with, yes, but he would understand the full context. “The professors, to their own comfort. They didn’t want to ask questions that would have made things uncomfortable with them, trying to get justice out of prominent pure-blood families. _No one _helped me, Harry, even when it would have been easy. I defended myself.”

Harry swallowed, but it looked heavy and sick. Tom was sorry he had disturbed his soulmate’s appetite, but he sat and waited for the questions Harry would want to ask.

They came quickly. “Couldn’t you have—damaged them in some way that was less permanent?”

Tom cocked his head. “How? How could I have returned equivalent harm? Burning their soul-marks would have done nothing, since they had already found their soulmates. And they would have decided it was me. As it was, before they died, someone ambushed them in a corridor and cast curses at them—someone who wasn’t me, but probably someone taking revenge for their constant bullying of Hufflepuffs. The professors all blamed me and gave me detention. No, trying to take the route of justice didn’t work, and trying to do anything less than complete and untraceable wouldn’t have worked, either. They were all too ready to turn on me.”

“That’s horrible,” Harry whispered. “But it doesn’t justify murder, or the sacrifice of innocent people. The Order tries to live—”

“They live by the exact same principles.” Tom leaned in with his lip curling. “Or what was Dumbledore doing, asking you to be a sacrifice and preparing to kill hundreds of innocent people?”

“He—he explained to me why I had to be—when I was old enough I agreed to it—”

“And did he ask the consent and agreement of all the people who would have died in his attempt to reach me? Did he even tell your parents and anyone else who might have contributed to that spell the truth about what he was doing?”

Harry shut his eyes tightly, while the bond radiated chaos. Then it smoothed away, and Tom sighed. He hoped he was going to hear a strong argument from Harry this time, not another bromide crafted by Dumbledore.

Harry looked at him and said, quietly but with absolute conviction, “Yes, the professors failed, and Dumbledore failed, too. But that doesn’t make what you did right.”

Tom laughed in delight. Harry’s brow crinkled in confusion, and Tom reached out and stroked the scar on his forehead. “How did you get that?”

“Broom accident,” Harry whispered, and then shook himself sharply out of reach. “How can you _laugh _when I say something like that?”

“Because I always hoped my soulmate would have a mind. Someone who worships me would bore me. But someone who might share my life forever should be able to stand up to me and fight back.”

“We’re still deciding on the forever.”

“Of course we are. At the moment, only the emotional bond is established. We don’t have anything like the fourfold magical bond that would be enough to strengthen us so that we don’t have to die unless we want to.”

“That’s—impossible. People have thought matched soulmates could be immortal, but they were wrong.”

“Would you like to see my Arithmantic calculations that prove _them _wrong?”

“I don’t know enough about Arithmancy to be sure—” Harry tightened his mouth. “You’re distracting me from the subject under debate.”

“All right.” Tom leaned back and crossed his legs. “So Langley and Yarrow died more than sixty years ago. I can’t resurrect them. I won’t have the Unspeakables research time travel specifically to go back in time and prevent their murders. What would you like me to do to atone?’

“You’d be _willing _to atone?”

Tom laughed softly. “Why not? It bothers my soulmate.”

Harry folded his arms. “You shouldn’t want to atone because it bothers me. You should want to atone because—well, because of higher ethical principles.”

His voice trailed off at the end, and Tom smiled at him. “Yes, starting to question the ones who taught you those higher ethical principles, aren’t you?”

Harry gave him a stubborn look and then clenched his hands into fists. “Not all of them are wrong.”

“Perhaps not. I’m willing to listen to and consider your arguments. But I am _not _going to say that Dumbledore was right simply because he’s Dumbledore. I’m not going to flagellate myself with guilt because of people who deserved to die. I’m not going to agree to a sacrifice of our soul-bond.”

“Wouldn’t that be impossible anyway? I mean, now that it’s been established.”

Panic came down the bond. Tom reached across the table to touch his hand. “Yes, it would be. Which is why we need to compromise—both of us—and learn to respect each other. And if you find yourself disgusted by the idea that two teenagers deserved to die for burning off my soul-mark, then understand how disgusted _I _am that Dumbledore chose to attribute my attempts to get justice to jealousy, and then decided that I deserved to be alone for the rest of my life because of his own mistake.”

“I won’t ever agree to murder as the solution to a problem.”

“I haven’t done that again. I was volatile as a teenager.”

“Is _that _supposed to excuse it?”

“Are Dumbledore’s good intentions and the fact that he failed supposed to excuse his own murder attempt?”

Harry closed his eyes for another second, his fingers tightening around Tom’s to the point of pain. Tom didn’t move, and didn’t release Harry from his intense gaze. After a few moments, Harry opened his eyes again and nodded slowly.

“Yes. All right. Okay. Compromise.”

Tom smiled. This was a good beginning to their joined lives.


	12. Approaches

Tom strode into the Ministry and savored the shock that flooded out from the people watching him, as if this was a normal day and he always came through that same Floo on the way to his office. He nodded distantly to the crowed and kept his eyes focused forwards. Someone would approach him soon enough.

“Minister!”

He had not anticipated that the first person to do so would be Percy Weasley, but then, the man didn’t seem to share the exaggerated fears of the rest of his family. Tom turned towards Weasley, his faint smile in place. “Yes, Mr. Weasley?” he asked, and the silence deepened as his ordinary words fell into them.

Weasley came to a stop in front of him, staring intently. “We wanted to make sure that you were all right, sir. No one has seen you since you vanished from the gala last night.”

Tom nodded. “But you did receive the owls that canceled my meeting with the Head of the Department for International Magical Cooperation, did you not?” Weasley was Undersecretary for Bartemius Crouch, who ran the department.

“Yes, of course, sir.” Weasley trotted anxiously beside him as Tom strode towards the lifts that would take him to his office. “But we merely wondered…since you wouldn’t leave such an important official event without an excellent excuse...”

Tom turned his head. Weasley shut up at the expression on his face and then bowed hastily, his expression twitching a little.

“Of course, sir, of course,” he murmured, although Tom hadn’t actually said anything.

“Thank you,” said Tom, and stepped into the lift and left Weasley to wonder what the thanks were for. That ought to screw his caution up enough to make him more courteous about approaching Tom again.

The gossip network moved fast, not that Tom had expected any less. By the time he stepped out of the lift, several people were waiting to greet him, but the only important one was Amelia. Tom nodded to her and faced towards his office.

“Madam Bones, if you would?”

Amelia dismissed the rest of her hangers-on with a few pointed eyebrow raises—nothing more needed, she’d trained her people well—and followed him into the office. She stared at him as he sat down behind his desk. “This must be something important for you to send word to no one after you left the gala.”

“Tell me, Amelia, how much did you see at the gala itself?”

She met his eyes and waited a moment before saying, “It looked like your magic was intertwining with Mr. Potter’s. But that should be impossible except between soulmates.”

Tom looked at her evenly.

Her eyes widened, and for a moment sought the phoenix of diamond and onyx that dangled on a chain around his neck. Then she began to smile. “Oh, congratulations, sir. Congratulations, indeed.” She paused, then added delicately, “But I thought everyone was saying young Mr. Potter was _not _your soulmate?”

Tom sighed and moved a piece of paperwork marked “urgent” over towards the side of the desk. “You recall that until recently his parents were fugitives? They ran when I was going to arrest them for questioning on how much they knew about some of those raids the Order of the Phoenix was planning.”

Again Amelia showed her quickness. “So they taught him to fear you.”

Tom nodded. “It’s my name, Amelia, that he carries.” He basked for a moment in the awed look on her face. There were still some of the older pure-bloods who thought name soul-marks were more impressive than any other kind, and denoted that the bond would be of special strength once established. Then Tom sighed and altered his voice to one of deep sorrow. “And he’s half out of his mind with shame for it.”

“_Shame_?” Amelia stared at him, her mouth slowly firming into a line. “And James and Lily Potter taught him this? I never would have thought they were that kind of people.”

“They taught him then, but they have learned better. I have no doubt now that they can help him learn to live with it.” Tom leaned back and thoughtfully folded his arms behind his head. “But I don’t think his parents came up with that idea on their own. They were barely political when he was born. No, someone else frightened them into it. But I have to find that person, and I have few clues. Harry doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Through lowered eyelashes, Tom watched as Amelia thought it over and then said, “It would be Albus Dumbledore, of course.”

Tom let himself roll his eyes a little, while delight burned in him like a banked flame, second in warmth only to the emotional bond with Harry draped around his shoulders. “Amelia, you know as well as I do that we’ve searched to find something linking Albus to the Order of the Phoenix, and we’ve found nothing conclusive.”

“And is your soulmate unwilling to give that testimony? What about his parents?”

Tom sighed. “Amelia, I can’t have them testify against the old man, even if they have a connection to him. The road to accepting Harry Potter as my soulmate will be hard enough without asking him to betray such an old loyalty. Likewise, his parents have no reason to trust me.”

“You pardoned them!”

“Yes, but at the time I was interested in their son. And there will be those who say now that I knew the supposed secret of Harry’s soul-mark all along and pardoned them to manipulate him.” It had been true manipulation at the time, but Tom knew from the fire mounting in Amelia’s eyes that she would now become one of his most dedicated crusaders against the idea. “We can’t find the proof this way, and I won’t try.”

“What if _I _spoke to Mr. and Mrs. Potter?”

“I still don’t think it would be a good idea to have a prominent Ministry official—”

“As a concerned parent.”

Tom blinked. “I didn’t know you had relatives attending Hogwarts right now.”

“Well, no,” Amelia admitted. “The last was my niece Susan, who graduated with your Harry.” She gave Tom a faint smile that Tom basked in again. “But she told me two stories about how Albus approached her and requested that she come to ‘private meetings’ where he could give her ‘special instructions.’ Susan refused on her parents’ advice. Now, though...”

“Yes, it does sound like the Headmaster attempting to influence a student. But that’s not the same as saying that he’s behind the Order of the Phoenix or any _activities _they may have undertaken.”

“Such as the assassination attempts on you?”

_She suggested it, not me. _Tom stared at his hands for a moment. “Amelia...”

“I know very well that you have no love for the old man, sir. Why you haven’t already moved more aggressively to take him down before now when he denied you justice for the burning of your soul-mark, I don’t know.”

That, Tom had _not _expected. He blinked at Amelia for a moment, and then shrugged, seamlessly playing even the honest reaction into the act. “As a child, what good would it have done? And as I got older, yes, I dislike him, but I know very well he’s a pillar of the community and a force for good in Hogwarts.”

“It sounds less like good and more like manipulation to me.” Amelia strode back and forth in place for a moment. “I am going to set Griselda on this. I know she’d want to be involved.”

Griselda Marchbanks was a prominent member of the Wizengamot, and Amelia’s soulmate. Tom did not let his lips quiver, but he wanted to. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.” Amelia paused near the door and looked over her shoulder. “Congratulations on your soulmate, Minister. Would you like me to handle it with the Aurors?”

“Please.” Tom had not been looking forward to explaining to his overprotective guard detail why he had left them behind in the middle of the gala.

Amelia nodded with a soft smile. “Then I will. Congratulations again, Minister.” And out the door she slipped.

Tom sat with his eyes closed for a few moments, then went to work on some of the forms and reports he absolutely had to read and sign. He was listening, however, and when the ruckus in the corridor became loud enough, he called, “Come in,” without looking up from his desk.

The door flung open, and Jalena Whipwood stalked into the room. Her breathing was loud enough to muffle the sound of her footfalls, the first time Tom could ever remember that happening.

He leaned back and watched her with eyes calm enough that it seemed to infuriate Whipwood more. She leaned forwards with her hands braced on either side of the desk and hissed, “Minister, _exactly _what did you think you were doing?”

“Leaving the gala?”

“Any of it. But yes, let’s begin with that. Sir.”

Tom hadn’t expected Whipwood to lose her temper this badly. Most of the time, she was the one who told the others that they shouldn’t explode in anger because it would only make Tom react badly. (Listening spells in the Auror offices were such useful things). But right now, she looked ready to fling him off a cliff.

Tom watched her thoughtfully for long enough that she looked ready to shout again, and then simply smiled at her. “I found my soulmate.”

Whipwood opened her mouth to speak and then seemed to find herself bereft of words. She shook her head and said in a soft croak, “What?”

“I don’t blame you for being startled,” Tom said, but he was watching, and he knew the emotion on her face ran deeper than surprise. It looked like—

_Devastation?_

And yet, Whipwood was happily soulmated, and certainly her wife would have known if Whipwood had inclinations elsewhere.

Tom took out his wand and held it ready under the desk, across his legs, while he shook his head. “No congratulations? Or are you still too startled?”

Whipwood cleared her throat. “Startled, sir. I suppose that when someone goes without their soulmate for years, you just assume that that will be the case forever. But of course I’m happy for you.” She smiled and stepped away.

Tom wouldn’t have had to be a Legilimens to sense the lie in _those _words. And he was ready when she threw a Stunner at him, underhand, although the fact that she used no wand was its own surprise.

Tom snapped up a Shield Charm and rose calmly to his feet. He was truly calm, and not just because he wanted to project no alarm down the bond to Harry, although that was a major consideration. He moved around the desk, his eyes bent on Whipwood. She had already fallen into a dueling stance.

“You will find that all the anti-Apparition wards around my office are now up,” Tom said. “As are the ones that disable Portkeys and the nearest fireplaces.”

“I don’t want to run from you anyway,” Whipwood said, with a blinding smile. “You bastard. You utter bastard.”

“So tell me, how did you come to work for the Order of the Phoenix?” Tom watched as the flush mounted up her neck to her cheeks. Whipwood was a good duelist, as were all the Aurors who had made it as far up the ranks as she had, but they measured their skill in exhibition matches. Whipwood’s attack on him had been the poison in the forest, it had to be. But Tom had read all the reports, and they said that she was no good at all when fighting angry.

Tom intended her to be _blazingly _angry by the time he was done.

“Thera Wildwood. Do you remember that name?” Whipwood began to move in the duelist’s circle. Tom followed.

“No, I can’t say I do. Relative of yours?”

“No. A friend. A _Muggleborn _friend.”

“Ah.” Tom thought he could see where this was going. He kept his feet light and his eyes fixed on Whipwood’s wand. He could have called for help, but he was honestly interested in the kinds of insights he could gain from ranting enemies, and Aurors who came into the office might hesitate for a moment between him and Whipwood, and create fatal distractions.

“She knew that you would never permit her to remain in the wizarding world after she finished her education at Hogwarts. So she stole from you.”

“I don’t recall any such theft from my vaults.” Tom had built up his fortune from donations, gifts, the wills of rich, childless followers, and the kind of misguided bribes that people thought they could use to influence him in the early years.

“No. She stole her talent and her future from you. She said that she would work in the Muggle world and reveal magic to them. Why not? They deserve to have magic to cure their diseases and injuries just like anyone else! Did you know that we can heal a broken arm in a few hours and it takes them _weeks_?”

Tom curled his lip a little. There was no point in trying to debate a fanatic, but he could think of words that might push Whipwood further into her rant. “And it never occurred to either of you that word of a ‘miracle’ like that could bring Muggles down on us like rats on eggs?”

“What does it _matter? _This world is so corrupt it could do with a little shaking up!”

Whipwood cast again while she was still talking, this time with the Killing Curse. Tom stepped aside from it and then concentrated all his magic into a blast of heat. He could hear people starting to pound at the door. Apparently someone had finally noticed the raising of the anti-Apparition wards and was now eager to do their jobs.

Besides, he could get information out of Whipwood later on with Legilimency and Veritaserum, and he did think he owed it to Harry not to become injured.

Whipwood raised the correct shield for the curse that she probably assumed would come at her, but this wasn’t a curse; it was simple heat, as unable to be stopped by a magical shield as a flare from the sun. Whipwood screamed as blisters exploded into being along her raised arms, and as her wand caught on fire. Tom stomped his foot once on the floor, releasing the wards and directing his magic at the same time.

By the time the Aurors burst through the door, Whipwood was sprawled, unconscious, on the stone.

“S-sir?” Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped forwards, his eyes wide. “Are you well?”

“Unfortunately, Auror Whipwood attacked me.” Tom shrugged and lowered his wand. “I must admit that I don’t understand all of her motives, but she seems to have been working with the Order of the Phoenix, and attacked me on the news that my soulmate had been found.”

He was watching their faces, and saw the few who flinched or started away from him. Tom smiled at them, and they stopped moving abruptly. Kingsley hadn’t blinked, though he did acquire a faint look of shock.

“That’s good news, Minister.” Kingsley cleared his throat and reached out to Levitate Whipwood. “Do you think she was responsible for the attack in the forest as well?”

“She was.” Tom held Kingsley’s eyes for a moment. “I will want to know, Auror, why no one in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement suspected that the traitor was one of their own.”

“I will be asking that question as well, Minister.”

Kingsley’s voice was appropriately harsh, so after a moment of consideration, Tom waved a hand at him. “Go and do what you need to do, Auror Shacklebolt. I need to return home to recuperate for a few hours, but I will come back.”

Kingsley nodded once, and then stepped out of the office with Whipwood floating behind him and the voices of the Aurors starting up. Tom gave them an impassive look, and they took the hint and left.

_I hope I didn’t steal too much of Amelia’s thunder, _Tom thought, and that was when sharp desperation flared up through the bond from Harry’s direction and he Disapparated without thinking about what would happen when other people felt that jolt through the wards on the Ministry as a whole.

*

Harry glanced up from the book that Tom’s Arithmantic calculations were written in, and raised his eyebrows a little when he saw a gleam of silver in front of him. Was this some kind of ward that Tom hadn’t told him about? Tom was currently at the Ministry soothing tempers he said would be ruffled by them leaving the gala together, and Harry was trying to get up the courage to send an owl to his parents.

But then the wisp of silver formed into a very familiar otter Patronus, and Harry felt his breath begin to come short as he stared at it. He couldn’t—he couldn’t reply—

“I figured out how to set at Timing Charm on my Patronus so it would only manifest when you were alone,” Hermione’s voice said from the otter’s mouth. “Harry, Ron and I are going to be venturing into the wizarding world under disguises very soon. Be at the Leaky Cauldron at two in the afternoon on the fourth.”

Then the Patronus dissolved, and Harry buried his head in his hands. All the doubt that he had stilled when he was in Tom’s arms came rushing back over him like a breaking wave.

How was he going to explain this to Ron and Hermione? How in the fuck _could _he?

But he knew he had to be there. Tom was going to place some Aurors on him, or want to, whenever Harry moved around in public, but that would just have to be a plan that lapsed. Harry would _have _to see his friends.

He wanted to explain. He wanted them to be happy for him. He thought it was too much to hope for that he’d accomplish that in the initial conversation, but it was still something he _did _want.

“Harry?”

Harry jumped and turned towards the front door, blinking as it opened. What was Tom doing here? He’d left almost an hour ago, but he’d said that he’d expected to be at the Ministry most of the morning.

“What’s wrong?” Tom shut the door behind him and padded towards Harry, eyes narrowed as if looking for someone who had caused him distress.

And of course he was. The bloody emotional bond, Harry realized abruptly. He’d thought distance might affect it—it wasn’t something that people who had found their soulmates explained in public—but he should have known that even if that was the way it usually worked, it wouldn’t for them.

“Why were you upset?”

Harry sat back in his chair with a long sigh and shook his head. “Just thinking about explaining—everything,” he said. He sighed again as Tom moved up to his side and ran a hand through his hair. The bond sang around him, definitely more palpable when they were right next to each other, tight and warm and close. “I know that you don’t have many friends, but for me, my friends were the people I thought I was going to spend my life with. I was thinking about how to explain to them and not coming up with anything.”

Tom smiled, bent over until his mouth was near Harry’s ear, and breathed, “Bollocks.”

Harry snapped his eyes open. He’d been enjoying the warmth of their emotional bond, and didn’t expect that word at all. “What?”

“It’s more than that that has you upset. You went from calm to sweating with dread in seconds. I could tell.” Tom circled around in front of him and took another chair with a pleasant smile. Those hungry eyes, of course, meant the smile wouldn’t have deceived anyone who was close to him. And Harry could also feel the bond singing steadily with Tom’s desire and lack of amusement. “Tell me.”

“It’s really—”

“The bond means that you can never lie to me again, Harry. And here I was, the other day, thinking that you never _would _want to, because of course you’ve learned better than that now that we’ve found each other as soulmates.” Tom tilted his head and sighed. “It seems not. Come, tell me.”

Harry gritted his teeth. “It’s about people you hate.”

“That’s too bad, isn’t it?”

“So I don’t get to have _any _mental privacy as long as the bond exists?”

Tom shrugged. “I don’t intend to use Legilimency on you without an excellent reason. But lying to me for years and years means that you don’t get to have my trust until you prove that you’re truthful.”

Harry closed his eyes. The bond couldn’t hide that pain that went along with Tom’s light words, and reminded him, again, that he’d always known the truth, while Tom had had to deal with believing he was alone in the world. He nodded slowly. “It was a message from Ron and Hermione.”

There was silence opposite from him, but not down the bond. That was stinging and stirring like an ancient dragon opening one eye.

“Let me guess,” Tom whispered, and Harry knew he shouldn’t be aroused by the tone in his voice, but it was so hard to help. And he shouldn’t think of the word _hard_, either. “They want to meet you and convince you to turn back into a martyr for the cause of the Order. Of course they would.”

“They—it’s not about wanting to persuade me to be a martyr—”

“But they think that it’s evil you found your soulmate, of course. Have you told them that they can rate you as an innocent victim because I didn’t give you a choice?”

“I didn’t send any message back yet,” Harry muttered tightly.

Tom nodded. “Well, suffice it to say that you won’t be going to any meeting without me.”

“Are you _insane_?”

“No. That’s what Dumbledore wanted me to be, but I’ve managed to avoid it. I always believed that I _would _find my soulmate one day.”

“Dumbledore didn’t want you to—”

“_Why are you going out of your way to excuse them? What would I have to do to earn the same kind of loyalty from you, Harry? Abuse you for the same amount of years?”_

Harry took a difficult breath. The truth was there, but he didn’t know if he had the strength to speak it.

Tom went on staring intently and silently at him, though, rather than talking, and that finally gave Harry the courage to murmur, “I—I think that blaming them would be self-indulgent. Because part of me still believes that I’m weak for giving in to you and that it would be strange to blame the Order for that when I could blame myself.”

Tom considered him for a moment more, and then nodded. “I could hardly expect you to come out of that environment unscathed,” he murmured, and reached out to trace his fingers gently around the bone of Harry’s right wrist, near to but not touching the soul-mark. “Very well. I will come with you under an Invisibility Cloak and stay silent. But I will be there.”

“If I did run, you wouldn’t have that much trouble _finding _me,” Harry muttered, irritated to find that he was blushing and only wanted Tom to keep touching him.

“It’s about more than that. Did you think I enjoyed the sight of your suffering?”

“I know you don’t, but that only makes it all the stranger that you want to go along! Because I’m going to suffer when I talk to them. It’s inevitable. Why don’t you stay here and wait for a report from me, or do whatever you need to do at the Ministry?”

“As a matter of fact, some damage control has been necessary.” Tom still didn’t move away or stop touching him. “And what I mean by not liking the sight of your suffering is that I will do everything I can to prevent it.”

“Nothing can prevent this.” Harry closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to determine in his own head if the way he felt when Tom touched him was worth the loss of his oldest friendships. “It’s just the way it is.”

“Then at least I can be there when you want to collapse because of the misguided ideas I’m sure Weasley and Granger are going to express to you.”

Harry swallowed and met Tom’s eyes, saw the determined darkness burning in them. “You aren’t going to change your mind about this, are you?”

“No. We can argue, if you want.” Tom’s mouth twitched in an amusement that his eyes, and the bond, thick and dark and clinging, didn’t reflect. “I do enjoy that.”

“I will need some privacy from you.”

“I expect that. I respect that. But you will not have privacy about something that causes you this much pain.”

After a moment, Harry nodded, and then rearranged himself in the chair so that he was leaning against the arm. Tom moved his own chair so that his arm was under Harry’s head. Harry sighed and murmured, “So what happened at the Ministry? Does everyone hate me now, or does no one know what happened?”

“I will not be keeping our bond quiet,” Tom said, running his fingers through Harry’s hair and over the old scar on his brow. “There is too much chance that someone else would notice you, now that you have been brought into the circles of power, and try to seduce you away.”

Harry sighed. “I wouldn’t go with them.”

“I do not wish to _witness _them.”

“Fine. But what’s been happening?”

Tom leaned towards him and began to speak in Parseltongue, and Harry nearly forgot himself in the warm voice and the bond that encircled him like a blazing rope.

*

Harry stood with his hands clenched in the taproom of the Leaky Cauldron, and tried to ignore the ravenous stares coming from every corner of the room. They made his skin prickle. People knew that he was the Minister’s soulmate, now.

They didn’t know that his two best friends would be here soon. And they didn’t know that the Minister was in the chair beside Harry right now, under the Invisibility Cloak that belonged to the Potter family.

Harry felt as though he was—well, as though he was the only one who knew the entire truth, although it wasn’t true. Tom knew. But he thought everything was fine, which only meant that Harry grew more and more stressed wondering if that was a good sign or not.

His parents’ reactions had been oddly muted. Lily had looked him in the eye, sighed, and wrapped her arms around him. “I think it might be the wrong decision, but I’ll support you in whatever you decide to do,” she’d murmured.

James had coughed and given Harry an awkward clap on the shoulder. “It’s a long time since I had charge of you, and you’re your own man now,” he said. “As long as you think about it and you’re sure you want this, Harry.”

The problem was, Harry _wasn’t _sure. And the more he tried to seek someone who could tell him what to do, the more he felt as though he was in a tiny boat tossed on choppy waters.

“Potter.”

Harry turned around with a relieved sigh. The people standing in front of him had to be Ron and Hermione, although the disguises were so good that it really did look as though they were the bearded men they seemed to be. Warlocks, even, with grizzled hair hanging down the sides of their heads. “You have something for me?” he asked, the signal he’d arranged in more Patronus exchanges with Hermione.

Exchanges that Tom had known about, had been witness to. Harry felt as if he had been dipped in slime as the word _Traitor, traitor, _echoed through his head again and again.

“Phoenix fire,” muttered the warlock on the left, in a voice that sounded like Ron’s if Harry thought about it.

Harry took a deep breath and nodded. “Then come on,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth, leading the way towards the staircase. There were rooms above the pub that one could rent out for a week or a day or an hour. Harry had chosen a day. He didn’t know how long the conversation would take.

What they would need to say to him. Whether Tom, pacing after them with soft amusement pouring down the bond, could hold his silence. What Harry would _feel _after Ron and Hermione had spoken to him.

He felt so dirty and conflicted that it was amazing Tom had refrained from touching him so far, his usual reaction when Harry sent emotions like this down the bond. Then again, perhaps he was getting used to it.

*

_Oh, Harry._

Tom held himself motionless under the Invisibility Cloak because right now, he knew that living up to the promise he had made to Harry was more important for the future of their bond than constantly reassuring him. But he _burned _with the desire to reassure him. Harry was all but shifting in place and sending sirens of distress down the bond, and his friends—as they were under the illusions they were removing—stared at him in silent judgment. Tom wanted so much…

Well, he had endured unfulfilled desires for years before this. He settled down silently to watch, keeping his hands motionless. They should never know he was there, and that was what he wanted, to see how they treated Harry in private.

Harry held out a hesitant hand. The red-haired wizard who must be Ron Weasley came forwards to clasp it. Tom held still, but it was difficult. He was looking into the face of a man who had murdered many of his people.

The brown-haired witch behind him, Hermione Granger, wasn’t much easier for Tom to watch. She had stiff shoulders and a stiff expression and, from what Tom knew of her, a stiff brain. She had been brilliant in Hogwarts, but her brilliance ran in narrow channels, one reason she had never achieved an Outstanding in Defense, Tom considered. She lacked the truly creative, insightful way of fighting or of countering curses that made the examiners give top marks.

“Harry,” Granger said. The tone was clipped, judgmental. “We wanted to warn you against giving in and letting Riddle corrupt you.”

“What do you mean by ‘corrupt’?” Harry’s tone was quiet. He didn’t make a motion, not even a minor twitch of his head, towards Tom, although of course he knew of his presence. Tom narrowed his eyes. Harry was a fine actor, he had to be, but Tom had not realized before this how much he had wanted to see honesty infuse Harry’s actions after the revelation of their soulmate bond.

Harry touched the bond gently, like a harpstring, without moving, either. Tom recovered himself. The last thing he wanted was for _Harry _to have to reassure _him_ in this situation.

“Well, you know what she means, mate.” Weasley folded his arms and regarded Harry as if he were someone Weasley had caught cheating at Quidditch. “It’s ridiculous, the way he goes on. He’ll have you hating Muggles and Muggleborns before you know it.”

Harry smiled faintly. “I could never do that. My mother’s a Muggleborn, as you very well know.”

The bond screamed. Tom locked down the iron self-control that had once let him permit a curse to whizz an inch by his head during an assassination attempt. Harry stood there as if everything was normal.

Perhaps it had been normal, for years. The Order’s definition of normal. They’d tell Harry to do something or make an assumption about him, and he’d smile and agree, while inside he screamed in agony.

Tom was going to change that. And he would start this evening, after this dreadful conversation was done.

“But Riddle’s charming,” Granger said. “He can corrupt even some of the Order’s spies. You know that.”

“Well, if he’s so charming you think that I’m going to be taken in despite myself, what exactly would you have me do? Either I’m strong and capable of resisting it, or I’m so weak you had to take the risk of coming into the wizarding world as wanted criminals to scold me, and that’s still not going to be enough.”

Tom licked his lips and told himself to tame his imagination. Right now, he couldn’t take the time to think about how he wanted to reward Harry for his intelligence and strength.

Granger and Weasley hesitated and glanced at each other. Then Granger said, “It’s not to _scold _you.”

“What is it for?”

Again the exchange of glances. Then Granger said, “You have to understand, we haven’t talked this over with Professor Dumbledore.”

“But we’re agreed on it,” Weasley said. “There’s no reason for you to stay here any longer, Harry. You can’t feed information to the Order anymore now that you’re compromised, and what kind of career or contribution can you really make to the wizarding world if you’re Riddle’s pet?” He held out his hand. “Come with us. Come back to the Order’s hiding place. We know that you can be yourself again if you can be with us.”

Tom tensed all his muscles. If Harry did seem as if he was about to accept Weasley’s hand in anything other than jest, he _would _break his promise. The one thing he could not bear was that his soulmate should leave him again.

Harry stared in silence at Weasley’s hand. Then he looked up and shook his head. “I don’t have any reason to stay here when my parents are free?”

“You know that Riddle’s going to change his mind about that as soon as they’re not politically convenient anymore,” Granger said impatiently. “Mr. and Mrs. Potter are loyal to our cause, Harry. They took the pardons because they wanted to see you and they wanted to get close to Riddle and extract some secrets if they could, but that won’t last forever.”

“Yeah, he did it to get you on his side,” Weasley added. “They’ll come back soon enough, and then you’ll want to be with them.”

Harry licked his lips. Then he said, “What would you do if Hermione supported something you really hate, Ron?”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Weasley said, with faith that might have been touching if it wasn’t so stupid. “We’re soulmates. We can’t be on opposite sides.”

“Then how can Riddle and I be on opposite sides?” Harry was whispering now. “No, something’s gone wrong. Or right. I don’t know which. I know that I don’t want to run to the Order’s secret hiding place now. Not with my parents free and—and not with the possibility that I was wrong.”

“Do you know what we found in the Department of Mysteries?” Granger demanded. “Books bound in human skin, Harry!”

“Hogwarts’s library has some of those, too—”

“_Recent_, Harry! The Unspeakables were conducting experiments in seeing whether the contents of magical books changed when they were bound in human skin! And we found notes from Riddle himself encouraging those practices! He was interested in seeing whether the skins of murderers would retain enough memories that he could use it as a means of punishment!”

Tom frowned. He had indeed forgotten about those experiments. He had regretted signing off on them, since it seemed that none of the Unspeakables were learning anything worthwhile from them.

“What?” Harry choked out.

“I bet you didn’t know that about your _soulmate_, did you?” Weasley’s glance was triumphant, even as Tom attended more to the hammering waves of emotion that had begun to flow up the bond he had with Harry. “Yes, exactly, Harry. That’s exactly what he was doing. That’s exactly why we have to oppose him! He’s going around doing _that _sort of shit!”

Harry swallowed and covered his eyes with one hand. The bond was in chaos now, bouncing back and forth between them as if someone had stretched it like a rope. Tom responded quietly with reassurance, holding back his hatred of Weasley and Granger. Harry didn’t need that right now.

“I need to talk to him about this,” Harry said abruptly. “Confront him with this.”

Tom tensed, and knew it would be impossible to keep _some _of that out of the bond. Harry’s head didn’t twitch, though. He kept his gaze on Weasley and Granger, who both looked upset.

“I wouldn’t do that, Harry,” said Granger, with a wise shake of her head. “What are you going to do? Actually assume you’ll get some acceptable answer out of him? The way that—”

“The way that I would get some acceptable answers out of _you_ if I asked you why you murdered people in the Department of Mysteries?”

Granger’s eyes went wide. Weasley stepped back as though Harry had pressed a blade to his throat. Granger said, after a moment, “How did you find out about that?”

“My _soulmate_ told me,” Harry said, and bitterness crashed down the bond. “And it’s true, isn’t it? You killed people!”

“Only in self-defense!”

“Self-defense _you wouldn’t even have needed _if you hadn’t broken into the bloody Department of Mysteries in the first bloody place!”

“You sound like you’re on Riddle’s side already, mate.”

“Yes, I’m a bloody traitor,” Harry said. “I’m a terrible, horrible person.” He was trembling, and Tom could barely describe what was happening in their bond. It was like being bathed with hot blood that also carried dozens of minute glass fragments. “Because no matter where I look, I find something to object to, and I don’t have a nice _safe _soulmate who I’m absolutely sure will never do anything wrong, and I should have just died like a good little martyr instead of saving my own _fucking life _when Dumbledore tried to collapse a building onto a bunch of _innocents_!”

“They would have been casualties of war—”

Harry’s power tore out of him. Tom gasped soundlessly as he watched Granger’s mouth seal shut with chains that simply sprouted out of her lips and jaw and linked to each other. Weasley yelled something incoherent and staggered towards Harry, but Harry’s magic seized him, too, and imprisoned him inside a glassy case.

Harry buried his face in his hands.

Tom tried to send his concern down the bond, but Harry snapped his head up and shook it so hard he must have hurt his neck. Tom knew that the words he spoke next were as much for him as for Weasley and Granger.

“I’m _leaving_. Don’t follow me.”

And Harry sprang out into a wild, undirected Apparition, and Tom felt their bond seal shut from his side, cutting off Harry’s emotions as firmly as Occlumency.


	13. Cliffs

Harry looked around slowly as his magic dropped him out of the Apparition and onto a rocky wall. He sighed. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that he had come to the cliffs east of the cottage he and his parents had lived in when he was a child.

Harry walked slowly to the edge and looked down at the sea mewing below, the waves stroking the stones like a pounding heart. He sat down and crossed his legs beneath him with a stiff, uncomfortable grunt. The light around him was grey, overcast, but at least it wasn’t actively raining at the moment.

Harry sighed out and let his eyes trace the path of the waves, lifting and rising and falling in the same regular rhythm he used to find so maddening. The foam hissed and withdrew, and it would go on doing that no matter who was Minister for Magic or how many people found their soulmates. He’d used to find it comforting, once he fully understood the meaning of the damn mark on his wrist. He’d stand by the cottage window and watch it for hours.

The sea didn’t care about him or who his soulmate was. It had been oddly freeing.

Harry lay back on the cliff-top, shoulders against the scree, and watched the swirling grey hypnotic dance until his breathing had slowed enough to sound normal to him. Then he shook his head and stared at the sky.

So. He had a soulmate who wouldn’t stay out of his head and who hated the Order on the one hand, and friends who thought he shouldn’t be with his soulmate on the other. What should he do?

Harry started as he realized, suddenly, that at least one problem had been solved. He couldn’t feel Tom’s annoying presence hovering right at his shoulder anymore, or the waves of anxious inquiry playing down the bond. He had apparently shut the bond, maybe because he was Apparating and it would have distracted him. Or his burst of magic back in the Leaky had shut it for him.

He had privacy, now, to sort through the emotions clashing in his head, without Tom rushing to his side.

Harry closed his eyes with a weary finality. Fine. He had that privacy. Now what?

The sound of the sea filtered in and filled his head with more rhythms. Again he thought back to his childhood, and the lonely hours that he knew would never be filled by anything else. He couldn’t get too close to friends, or he might show them the mark. He couldn’t have his soulmate. He couldn’t tell people like Sirius about it, or they might spread it around as gossip.

Harry swallowed. One revelation was rushing at him like the Hogwarts Express, and lying out here on the cliffs with no one else around to be hurt by it, it didn’t seem like he could keep from thinking about it.

_Hard to build a relationship of any kind when you don’t trust anyone. _

Harry nodded slowly. He’d been so focused on making sure that no one ever found out Riddle was his soulmate, he doubted that he had ever shown Ron and Hermione his true self. That meant he _didn’t _know that they were his best friends, not really. They might only be friends of the mask he had built and used so carefully.

And he had carried on using masks in the Ministry. He was weak and useless. He was obsessed with Quidditch and nothing else. He was always going to be a lower-ranking official, since his parents and his godfather had been sent into exile.

And he had proposed to _live _like that for the rest of his life, because it was what he had thought he had to do.

Harry swallowed and clenched his hands tight. He really _had _thought he was doing the right thing, but that was because Dumbledore had told him he was. And his faith in the man had been another kind of mask.

Even now, Harry respected him. He knew firsthand, from his own experience, how hard it would be to give up his soulmate. And Dumbledore had done that after the establishment of at least the emotional bond.

But he had lost all desire to imitate him.

Harry closed his eyes again and let out a deep, shuddering breath. That was one thing decided, at least. He wasn’t going to walk away from Tom. It would mean going back to the masks. Even if he had fled to the Order’s secret world with Ron and Hermione, he would have spent the entire time dreading any syllable that slipped out of his mouth. Just in case someone had thought he was too devoted to his soulmate after all.

So. He would stay here. He would fight to change the Ministry, and Tom, from the inside.

What did that mean for his relationship to the Order, and Ron and Hermione?

Harry propped his hand in his chin. It felt so strange to be sitting here on the edge of the cliff and just thinking and not worrying about who would come after him or touch him on the wrist or call his name, and what kind of face he would have to turn to them. He had gone through all Hogwarts carefully analyzing his emotions, always watching himself, judging based on the reactions of others how much enthusiasm he should express, which subjects he should talk about, and whether he should even seem apathetic towards certain politics or not.

“Shit,” Harry said aloud, blinking down at the sea. “Do _I _even know who I am?”

He knew that he had been desperately lonely. He knew that he had known more magic than most people guessed. He had known that he loved his parents and his godfather and his best friends. And—that had been about it. He didn’t even know how good he would _really _have been at magic or Animagus training or any of the rest of it if he had been allowed to practice openly and freely.

Harry hesitated. Then he nodded. He had made up his mind that he was going to stay with Tom. He didn’t know yet that he would say he loved Tom—the man was different than everyone else in that category, partially because he knew things about Harry that even his parents didn’t—but he didn’t want to give up what they had.

However, some things would have to change.

With those thoughts, Harry closed carefully lowered the barriers he had put up around the emotional bond. Immediately Tom’s worry cascaded over him, a little like a scalding waterfall. Harry took a heavy breath and felt Tom orient on him, then come springing through space.

Harry frowned lightly to himself. Yes, he’d heard of soulmates being able to Apparate to each other, but most of the time, it took longer for that part of the bond to form, at least a few weeks or months.

_Maybe it’s different because we denied it for so long but we were in regular contact for weeks before this, _Harry thought, as the world seemed to blur around him with Tom’s arrival. Suddenly the worry was lapping over him, joined by relief that was like a spring shower, and Harry’s lips stretched in an unwilling smile.

“You’re all right,” Tom said, studying him. “When you left, I thought…”

“I’m all right,” Harry confirmed quietly, without standing up and walking towards his soulmate the way the emotional bond so clearly wanted him to. “Physically. Not mentally.”

Tom gave a muffled curse and stepped towards him with his arms out. Harry stood up, but stepped back. He heard Tom hiss something, without words, as his heels came down on the edge of the cliff looming over the ocean.

“Harry. Don’t move another step.”

“That’s one of the things that’s going to have to change, for instance,” Harry countered without moving. “Your idea that concern for my safety means that you get to control me.”

“If you’re about to commit suicide—”

“Listen to the bond, Tom. Is that what it’s telling you?”

Tom hesitated, which made Harry feel a flare of warmth; he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t accustomed to listening to a bond like the one they had. After a moment, Tom nodded, slowly. “You’re right. All I can feel is a kind of quiet determination.” Tom paused. “Is there a reason that you aren’t touching me?”

“Yes. Because I tend to lose my head when I do that, and I think we should have this discussion in a clear-headed way.” Harry rolled his eyes at and ignored the smugness gliding over him down the bond. “Listen to me, Tom. I don’t want you to challenge my every decision and control my every movement in the name of keeping me safe.”

Tom closed his eyes for a second. Harry thought he might be listening to the bond, although Harry couldn’t “feel” him doing that. “And that means that you don’t want me doing things like hurting everyone who’s hurt you,” Tom murmured. The tone of his voice, and the glassy wall that seemed to spring up between them on the bond, was opaque.

“Of course not,” Harry snapped back, some of his anger returning like fire leaking through a cracked door. “I’m not as sadistic as you.”

“Careful, darling.” Tom opened his eyes and moved a step forwards after all. “That sounded like an insult.”

“That’s because it _was._”

Tom only nodded. “And one of the things I’m going to make a condition of our bond is that you give up the thought of me as someone who’s a sadistic fool, out to conquer the world and kill all Muggleborns.”

“You signed off on those experiments to bind books with human skin!” Harry yelled. Vaguely it crossed his mind that yelling at Tom felt safer than yelling at Hermione. Maybe it was because he wouldn’t have the sane, convoluted arguments that Hermione would use to justify herself, though.

“Well, it was from dead murderers. They were hardly using it.”

“It’s still _books in human skin, _Tom!” Harry clapped his hands for emphasis, and then winced as he teetered on the cliff’s edge again. Tom nodded and didn’t move towards him. Harry sighed and made the step to safety himself.

“Then I will cancel the experiments and ask that the Unspeakables burn the evidence. The experiments were not yielding anything more than curiosities, anyway.”

“I want you to—” Harry stopped. Tom watched him. Harry was sure he could feel the chaotic, jagged edges of the bond, surging back and forth, biting at both of them with teeth so sharp they would ache. Harry took a deep breath. “I want you to cancel them because it’s the right thing to do, not because you want to please me or because the experiments gave you no data.”

“You want me to adopt your moral system, whole.” Tom quirked his lips and made a thoughtful sound. “Wouldn’t that mean agreeing with Dumbledore that he was right to keep you away from me, to almost make your parents kill their son, to require such sacrifices of his followers? You don’t understand all the implications of what you’re asking, Harry.”

“It’s better than your system, which apparently consists of _do what’s useful and what will protect the people I care for._”

Tom laughed, a huffing sound that made Harry fight to control his own smile. Shit, he was never going to get anything done if the bond affected him that way. “I think most people live by that code,” Tom said, cocking his head. “The difference is that they wrap it up in justifications, whereas I don’t. I hope that you won’t tax me to see things from your point-of-view while never seeing them from mine, Harry.”

Harry took a deep, difficult breath. “I want you to acknowledge that what you authorized the Unspeakables to do was wrong.”

“Surely, darling. When you agree that your friends committing murder was wrong.”

“I’ve already admitted that,” Harry said, and shoved his hands through his hair. “I was never going to go back to the Order’s hiding place with them.”

“That’s not the same thing as saying that they were wrong.”

“Do you think I would have hesitated if I thought they were right?” Harry glanced up and frowned at something glassy in Tom’s eyes. The hum of the bond had a different tone now. “You _do _think I would have gone with them even if I thought they were wrong. Why?”

*

_If you wanted badly enough to get away from me._

Tom swallowed it. Harry had not actually said he would, and Tom would be best-served by not giving him the idea. He held out his hand.

“I didn’t arrest your friends,” he said. “I left, because otherwise I would have had to tell them that I was there. Come home, Harry. You owe yourself more than to brood in this forsaken place.”

“This forsaken place used to be home.” Harry didn’t move. “And I want you to say that what you authorized the Unspeakables to do was wrong.”

Tom slowed his breathing. It wouldn’t do to react too precipitously to what Harry was saying. “And you understand that I’ll do so because you wish it? Not because I have the same kind of abstract moral principles that you do?”

Harry paused for a long moment. Then he said, “What are the chances of you changing your mind?”

“Adopting your principles simply because they exist?” Tom shook his head. “But I will make changes if you want me to.”

Harry stared at him, his eyes slowly moving back and forth across Tom’s face, tracing currents of emotion that felt unknown to Tom himself. “So you would be willing to let me make changes from the inside.”

“Yes,” Tom said. “What, did Dumbledore never suggest that? I’m surprised.”

“He thought I was weak enough to fall in love if I tried it.”

“And it’s my power that he’s afraid of, more than anything else,” Tom said. Harry hadn’t stated it explicitly, but it made a lot of sense. Dumbledore might not regret driving Tom insane, but it couldn’t be his primary goal, or he would have turned to the Mind Arts and potions instead of assassination attempts. “Well, I can’t deny that I’ll put forth any effort needed to seduce you. But I _can _say that I won’t try to force you to follow my own code.”

“So everything is just…as difficult as it was before?” Harry was staring at him with eyes as hard as gemstones.

“I think _everything _is going to be as difficult as it was before,” Tom said honestly. “Except that this time, we know what we are. And I’ll try to give you what you want as well as what you need.”

Harry gave a quick, fleeting smile. “Why didn’t you call the Aurors and have Ron and Hermione arrested?”

“Because I want what’s best for you,” Tom said, wondering how many times he would need to repeat it. Then again, Harry had clearly shown that he hadn’t had that many people who were trying to do what was best for him. This was probably due to scars from the Order and the way he had been raised rather than a lack of power behind Tom’s attempts. “I know that you wouldn’t want your friends arrested. What?” he added, since Harry was staring at him.

“So you’ll go against your own code of principles for—me?”

“I told you that I don’t hold to an abstract code like you do,” Tom said quietly. “Yes, I would arrest your friends if they came into a public place and did something like they were going to do again. I wouldn’t have any choice. But no one except us knew they were there. I can afford to let them escape.”

“Tom.” Harry looked a little dazed. “You—can’t put pleasing me above everything else.”

“Not above _everything _else. I want immortality, and I want revenge in some way you don’t object to. Those are still lofty goals.”

Harry closed his eyes for a long moment. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered.

“Have you never met anyone else who privileged their soulmate above all else?” Tom asked in curiosity. Perhaps not his parents, since they had a child, but… “I am sure you must have seen Weasley and Granger do things they never would have done, if not because the other one wanted them to.”

“I—no one’s ever done that for _me_.”

_Ah. _Tom smiled and remained where he was. Well, things had changed, but it wasn’t surprising that Harry still needed some time to get used to the idea. He waited, and Harry got control of himself sufficient to open his eyes and look at him again.

“If you want to please me,” Harry said, voice steady, “then I’m going to tell you something, but I _don’t _want you to act on it.”

Tom swallowed. That might be difficult, but it was important that Harry know he could trust Tom. “Very well.”

“Part of me does want revenge on all of them,” Harry whispered. “All of them who had their soulmates, or the chance at their soulmates, and who think I should give you up now. All of them who _could _just follow Dumbledore’s orders, because they didn’t have a conflict with it. They made sacrifices, but not like mine.”

Tom hissed in pleasure, and in frustration. So Harry wasn’t as pure as Tom had thought, and part of him _did _burn at what the Order had done, and consider it a crime—

But he wouldn’t let Tom punish them. Tom would have said something frustrated if he was less iron-willed. As it was, he bowed his head and murmured in Parseltongue, “_Then that shall stay between us, darling._”

Harry took a single hard, deep breath. Then he walked forwards and let his head drop so his chin rested against Tom’s neck. “Take me home, will you?”

Tom took him back to his own house, because Harry hadn’t specified. But Harry didn’t protest, so maybe that had been what he wanted, without wanting to ask for it.

Tom put Harry to bed and sat beside him, watching him as he dozed, Tom’s hand curled around the edge of the chair’s arm. He heard again Harry’s words, “No one’s ever done that for me,” and he considered the unasked question that had nonetheless accorded with Harry’s will.

He would set the world on fire for Harry’s pleasure, but if he could listen to his unspoken words and be the sole provider of what Harry wanted but would never ask for…

_I confess, I would prefer that._

*

Albus waved his wand and finally dissolved the chain that had tied Miss Granger’s mouth and lips together. Granger gave a small sigh and then began to weep. Weasley stood behind her, his hand on her shoulder, his expression helpless. From what Albus had gathered, Harry had bound him in a kind of stasis that had faded after a few hours, but the chain had been a physical Conjuration and consequently took longer to disappear.

Albus wanted to shake his head as he thought about it. These were Harry’s best friends, and still he had done this to them. _How could he have?_

“I don’t know why he did it,” Granger said at last, and her eyes were swollen despite the fact that she hadn’t cried for very long. “The only thing we did was invite him to come back with us and tell him that he was wrong.”

“I fear that Riddle must have got to him already,” Albus said. The very thought made him feel weary, but it was also the only thing that would explain the way Harry had turned on friends who had stuck by him through years of sullenness and stubbornness and hiding. “It was a valiant effort, Hermione. You are not to blame for its failure.”

He leaned back against the tree behind him, and sighed. They were seated around a small fire in the Forest of Dean, deep enough into sections regularly visited by Muggles that wizards were unlikely to find them. But it was still a risk for Weasley and Granger to be here at all, given the “crimes” they were wanted for.

Such courage, Albus marveled as he looked at them. So young, and so willing to give up their lives, their freedom, anything but each other and their beliefs to ensure that Riddle didn’t succeed. It wore at his heart that Harry would not imitate them.

“Headmaster.” Albus looked up as young Weasley sat down in front of him. “Harry didn’t know anything about the raid we did on the Department of Mysteries, did he?”

Albus shook his head. “You remember we discussed it with each other when I first asked you to go? We both knew that Harry would feel conflicted over any action that was likely to result in the loss of life.”

Weasley looked troubled, a shadow sweeping across his face. “But I thought you were going to tell Harry afterwards. I mean, he didn’t seem surprised to hear it, but that was because Riddle got to him first. If we’d told him the truth, then we could have prevented Riddle from corrupting him.”

“Harry has always been—unreasonable on that particular point,” Albus said. It disturbed him more that he did not know where that trait had come from. It was true that Lily and James were no great killers, but neither had they hesitated to contribute their magic to spells that Albus knew they had to suspect were assassination attempts. And Sirius had always been willing to do what he had to, as well. Where did Harry’s reverence for enemy life come from? “I always intended that he remain ignorant of it.”

“When was he going to come back to the Order, though, sir?” Granger asked. “You know that he couldn’t continue passing information to the Order forever.”

“I don’t think he was ever _intended _to come back,” Sirius said then, loud and brash, plopping down and inserting himself into the conversation.

Albus slanted him a carefully calibrated exasperated glance. Sirius just glared at him and said, “We can’t reason with Harry, so we need to take him out of there. You see that, don’t you?” He glanced at Weasley and Granger, and then gave a laugh that was more like a bark. “Well, maybe _you _don’t, if you’re all convinced that he’s evil now.”

“He tied her jaws shut with a chain!” Weasley yelled. “I mean—I think he should have been told about the raid we did, but he would _never _do anything like that if he was in his right mind!”

“He’s not evil. He’s not insane.” Sirius’s voice was low but convincing, and Albus found himself listening. “He’s only being influenced by that _fucking _soul-bond.” He ignored Granger’s gasp at his language, and fixed burning eyes on Albus. “I’ve seen this before, when I watched some members of my family change after bonding with their soulmates. I think they can only have the emotional bond right now, though?”

Albus slowly nodded. “I cannot be sure, but it certainly is the one that is established first most of the time.”

“Right.” Sirius ran a hand through his hair. “So we have the chance to get him away from Riddle if we’re smart about it. I know a spell that will block the emotional bond or any other bond that someone tries to establish with Harry. Like _really _good Occlumency. We’ll give Harry a chance to think it through and realize that Riddle hasn’t magically changed from being the bastard he always was.”

“But how are we going to get Harry to reconsider that in the first place, if he’s already being influenced?” Weasley asked.

Sirius grinned, and there was a bold edge to it that made Albus uneasy. But, well, he had only one other plan in mind for dealing with Harry, and he didn’t want to employ it unless matters were desperate. “Trust a Marauder to arrange a little kidnapping.”

*

Harry woke with a stretch. A hand came to rest on his forehead at once, smoothing slowly back and forth, and warm emotions lapped him. Harry was too tired to distinguish them other than knowing that one of them was protectiveness.

“Tom?” Harry breathed. Tom leaned over him, saying nothing, watching him with fierce eyes.

Harry stared up at him, and his first thought was, _He looks lonely._

That reminded him how much time Tom had endured without his soulmate, decades while he was waiting for Harry to be born. Harry had known they could never be together, but Tom hadn’t known Harry existed.

Harry reached up and hooked an arm around Tom’s neck. Tom bent over him without a word, his eyes burning. Harry kissed him silently, and Tom exhaled and hissed something that made Harry wonder if he actually understood Parseltongue after all. The words seemed to mess and blur into one another.

Harry kept pulling, and Tom fell heavily down beside him on the bed. Harry continued to kiss him, and then he reached out and slid a hand down Tom’s chest. Tom stared at him, unblinking until Harry slid his hand into Tom’s trousers, and grasped the erection that awaited him.

Tom did hiss understandable words then, reaching out and tracing his fingers up the side of the soul-mark on Harry’s wrist. The soft blue flames that ignited lit his face with shifting shadows. “_You don’t have to._”

“I know,” Harry replied quietly, and then stroked.

Tom’s lips parted, and he seemed incapable of saying anything else. Harry kept touching him, eyes fastened on his face, watching as Tom’s chest heaved, his breathing sped up, and his mouth opened to gasp in air. He tilted his head back and breathed harder and harder, and Harry leaned in to lick up the side of his throat.

He felt his head grasped, and Tom kissed him wildly, his tongue stabbing and sliding. Harry moaned and dug his fingers in until Tom twisted in what was obviously discomfort. Harry went back to the slow stroking then, making sure he twisted his wrist at the end of each motion.

“_Harry_…”

The hiss was so low and guttural it might have been Parseltongue, and might not have been. Harry swallowed. He understood it either way. He took his other hand and guided it between Tom’s legs, while Tom watched him as though he was the ending and the beginning of the world.

Harry touched Tom’s bollocks, parting the cloth to feel the tight, wrinkled skin, and watched the way that Tom’s eyes rolled back covetously. He pulled his hand back until Tom was looking at him again, because he wanted Tom to _see _him.

Then Harry brought both his hands together, and stroked Tom up and down and sideways at the same time.

Tom came with a shudder and another hiss, and watching him break apart with pleasure, a heady surge of power startled Harry. _He _had done that. He had brought the Minister for Magic off, brought a _man_ off, when he had once thought he would never dare do that. Never be able to do that.

Tom’s thrashing hand brushed against Harry’s wrist again, and the blue soul-fire lit his face and the emotion that was there.

Tom wasn’t a virgin, Harry knew that full well. The speculations and the rumors and the gossip and the truth had always been wound together in the _Daily Prophet _when he took a lover. But Harry knew, he knew without anyone telling him, that Tom had never looked at any of them like this.

Tom grabbed him and drew him down, holding Harry across his chest as he kissed him fiercely. His fingers were digging painfully into Harry’s back, but Harry found that he didn’t care, even that he _liked _it. He wanted someone to hold him as though he was the center of the universe.

But when Tom started to slide a hand between his legs, Harry drew back and shook his head. “I don’t want that,” he murmured. “Right now,” he hastened to add, because he had seen what Tom’s face was doing in the shadow of the flames. “I mean—I’m fine. Later. I want—I want to be with you.”

Tom folded his arms around Harry and said nothing. It took a long, long moment, but Harry heard his breathing return to normal, and he knew he could put his head down and go to sleep.

All the while, his soulmate’s arms remained around him, as steady as a wall, and their emotional bond sang with soft awe.

Harry fell asleep with a smile on his face.

*

_This man._

Tom thought of the stumbling words Harry had spoken earlier that day, that no one had ever put him first. Well, Tom could have said the same thing now. No one had ever touched him with such pure concern for _his _pleasure, and then asked nothing more than to curl up next to him.

Tom rolled them so that he was the one resting on his back and Harry was more or less draped across his chest. He maintained his tight hold, but shifted to clasp one hand around Harry’s right wrist, so he could see the blue light shine.

It illuminated Harry’s face like moonlight, and the soft smile Tom saw there made him close his eyes.

He would defend Harry with everything he had. He would kill for him. He would hold back on killing or wreaking vengeance if Harry told him to, and only because it was _Harry _who was saying it.

But he would also lie here, and give Harry the most peaceful night’s sleep he could.


	14. Understanding

"What happened, Harry?"

Sometimes Harry hated the way that his mother could take one look at him and know that something had happened. Then again, at least she was here and able to do that, where she hadn't been in his life regularly for nine years. He summoned a smile.

"A lot of things. Is there any tea left?" He glanced towards the kitchen, deliberately turning his back on the window that he knew Tom's Aurors were standing beneath. For just a moment, he didn't want to be reminded how "treasured" he was, as Tom would put it.

It was one thing when Tom held him in his arms and said that to his face. Another thing when Tom acted like he needed a bodyguard to visit his parents.

"Yes, of course." Lily poured him a cup and held it out, her eyes questioning. Harry sipped from the cup and smiled. She had prepared it exactly as he liked it.

And then he sighed and led the way into the drawing room, because he knew that he couldn't put off some aspects of the conversation any longer. He looked around as he realized that James hadn't come out of the bedroom to join them. "Where's Dad?"

"I asked him to wait a while and let us talk together first." Lily brushed her sleeve forwards over her hand. "So what is it, Harry? I know that you've made a choice to accept Mr. Riddle, but what more than that?"

Harry jumped and glared at her. "I only told you that we'd _provisionally_\--"

"Of course, but give me credit for more sense than that." Lily's smile was wan, but Harry couldn't see a real lack of acceptance behind it. "You were so quiet a few days ago that I didn't like to ask about it, but I knew something else must have happened."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair and wondered for a second what would happen if his mother sympathized more with Ron and Hermione than him. Then he discarded the thought. Mum had always been on his side, no matter what happened. She had sometimes made the wrong decisions, as when she had thought that it was best to conceal his soul-mark from Tom, but she had still sympathized with him over how hard it was and tried to make it better for him.

"Ron and Hermione sent me a message. They wanted to talk to me. And we did meet at the Leaky Cauldron. Under disguises, for them," he added quickly, when he saw the storm darkening his mother's eyes. "And Tom came along hidden under my Invisibility Cloak."

Lily nodded slowly. "I wondered why you wanted it, but of course, it's always yours."

"I went to talk to them. I expected--I thought it would be hard, but I could make them understand. But they wanted me to come back to the Order's camp with them, and they were more upset about me knowing they'd killed people than killing people. I think," Harry added softly. His memory of the conversation was so full of noise that now he had to wonder if he hadn't given his friends a fair chance. "I got so angry that I chained Hermione's mouth shut and froze Ron in stasis and Apparated out of there."

His mother stared at him in silence for a second, eyes wide. Then she reached out and let her hand rest gently on top of his. "Oh, Harry."

"Yeah." Harry hesitated. "I know they might not forgive me for that. But, Mum...I don't know if I can ever forgive them for committing murder and keeping it from me _and _thinking that I'm the one who's in the wrong for the soul-mark I was born with. When they committed _murder_."

Lily said nothing for long enough that Harry lifted his head to stare at her, wondering what she was thinking. She gave him a wan smile and managed, "I think that Hermione and Ron were always very influenced by Headmaster Dumbledore, more than you were. You didn't trust them as much, or him as much, because you already knew you couldn't get too close to anyone in case they revealed your soul-mark. Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione grew up with full confidence in their parents and the Order of the Phoenix."

"I had full confidence in you, too!"

"But you always felt marked out for a lonely fate, Harry. Rightly. We didn't handle it the way we should have." Lily shook her head. "The proper response when Dumbledore asked James and me to lay our son on the altar should have been _no_."

Harry wriggled in place, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. "Fine, but that's what's been going on. The problems with Ron and Hermione and Tom and me not being sure what I should do."

"Keep on working to accept yourself and your soulmate, of course."

"Even though Ron and Hermione think it's wrong?"

Lily sighed and looked at the wall past his shoulder for a long moment. Then, speaking softly, she said, "I asked your father what would happen if I believed in something that he considered deeply wrong, if he would abandon me. And he said no. We--we think of soulmates as sacred, and say as a society that it's wrong to sleep with or even date someone who doesn't have your mark, although of course not everyone obeys that dictum."

Harry nodded shortly, thinking of the lovers Tom had had.

"But then we said _yours _was different, that things had gone too far because magic had destined you for someone we hated." Lily shook her head. "When Dumbledore's soulmate was _Grindelwald. _Why did we forgive him that, when he'd actually bonded with him, and say that he wasn't damned forever, when we thought you were?"

"You did think Tom was a murderer," Harry said, trying to smile. "And he is."

Lily didn't smile back. "But there isn't a war, except for the one the Order was fighting. I haven't seen any evidence for it."

Harry hesitated. His mother focused on him. "Did your Tom tell you there was?"

"No. He seemed to think the idea ridiculous. He did say that he's passing laws and handling votes the way I thought he was, with an agenda." _And I have to talk to him about that agenda. _"But he's not gathering soldiers or an inquisition to round up Muggles or Muggleborns, or butcher them."

"There could still be a different kind of war."

Harry nodded. "But that's the point, that it would be a _different _kind of war. Not the kind that Dumbledore thinks the Order should be fighting. Which means their strategy has been totally baseless and probably made things worse by making everyone think the Order is just a bunch of criminals...what is it, Mother?"

A deeply sad smile was pulling at the corners of Lily's lips. "You referred to the Order with _their _instead of _our._"

Harry tightened his hands in front of him. He looked down at them and thought about Hermione's smile and Ron's laughter and Sirius's hand ruffling his hair, and how much he had admired Dumbledore for giving up his own soulmate after he bonded with him. He thought of Molly's hugs and Arthur's steady patience and all the stories he had heard of the lives they had left behind to do what was right.

He thought of the way Ron and Hermione had been murderers and he had never known it, of the way that Dumbledore had collected spells that might have made Mum and Dad and Sirius and Molly and Arthur _his _murderers and Harry had never known it. He didn't know how much had been false from that end, too. Even as he'd lied to everyone about his soul-mark, they had lied to him because they knew that he would object to the thought of sacrificing innocent lives for the cause.

_No, more that they knew I would think of those Unspeakables and Aurors and all the rest as innocent. They didn't think that way._

He finally met his mother's gaze again. "Yeah," he said. "I reckon I've chosen my side."

*

Lily had to close her eyes. _So this is what it came to, Albus. You insisted that Harry had to give up everything. And then he couldn't even live away from his soulmate. He had to spend all that time in his sphere of influence. It was like you wanted to test him, constantly, instead of surrounding him with the love he needed to overcome the temptation. You never trusted Harry, did you, not from the moment he was born with that mark?_

"That doesn't mean I'm going to just adopt Tom's attitude towards everyone," Harry went on. "I think he's wrong about Muggles and Muggleborns. And his _solution _to Dementors isn't that much better. I'm going to talk to him about that. I'm going to change things from the inside."

Lily opened her eyes slowly. "There were others who thought the same thing, Harry. I know. Albus told me about them. Members of the Order who walked away from it after years in the Ministry and just said they couldn't support Albus anymore."

"But they didn't reveal the Order's secrets, did they? They didn't agree with the Order's methods, but that's not the same thing as reform being impossible or Albus's war the only way."

Lily paused. Then she sighed. "You're right. And I should have realized that if I was going to question all the rest of Albus's nonsense, I should have questioned this, too."

"Come on, Mum. You can't blame yourself for that."

Lily hugged him. Her strong, capable son. The son she had barely seen for nine years, and had still wronged. Harry hugged her back. He forgave her, she knew.

_Perhaps too easily. _

Lily settled back in her own chair and cleared her throat. "I'm trying to use the blame in productive ways, such as making sure that I carefully question everything now. And I do wonder how Riddle is going to settle you at his side."

"What do you mean? He told me he caught an Order operative who was posing as an Auror, the same one who poisoned him on the day we were supposed to meet you."

Lily looked into his clear gaze. It seemed some essential innocence was still left to Harry. She hoped, silently, that he would always be able to retain it, and that what she was about to say wouldn't tarnish it. "I don't mean just the Order, Harry. There are political powerhouses who will see the Minister's soulmate as an easy target. People who will assume you're a conduit to Riddle's favor, and some who will resent you because they'll think you'll be in the way. Perhaps even those who resent you because they intended to seduce the Minister themselves."

"I...knew that." Harry spoke slowly and studied her with a faint frown. "But I think Tom is going to help me handle them."

"You should also be able to stand on your own and prove that you _are _a political powerhouse in your own right."

"You mean I'll have to play politics the way Tom does? But I'm not a pure-blood."

"What does that have to do with anything? You know that half-bloods are often in the greatest positions of power in the Ministry. Your Tom is an example. And he tends to promote half-bloods and surround himself with them."

"He _does_?"

Lily frowned. "You can't have been unaware that Albus directs a lot of his recruitment efforts at the half-bloods in the Ministry? He knows that they're likely to feel at least some sympathy to Muggles and Muggleborns, and also that Riddle is likely to promote them further."

"I--no, I didn't know that." Harry ran his hand through his hair, looking overwhelmed. "I suppose part of it is that I didn't pay a lot of attention to the blood status of the people who surrounded him. Tom is the one who dominated my perspective. But I'm sure Albus also told me that Tom looks down on half-bloods. Sees himself as an exception rather than a rule."

Lily shook her head in wonder. She supposed it wasn't strange to realize that Harry had been lied to like that, but it wasn't a lie that would have occurred to her. Because, along with the half-bloods he promoted, Tom Riddle had always made it clear that he favored pure-bloods.

"I suppose I should have known, though," Harry mused, before Lily could say anything else. "He did tell me that he sees the pure-blood rhetoric he manipulates as a game."

Lily blinked at him. "He said that?"

"Yeah." Harry's eyes glinted for a second. "That's something I should have talked to him about before now, but we're _definitely _going to be talking about it in the future. These are people's lives he's playing with, not just a game."

"It sounds like a good idea to talk to him," Lily agreed faintly, and then put on a bright smile and began engaging Harry in the sort of talk about his soulmate that she would have loved to do early on if Harry had been born with a more ordinary name on his wrist. Harry smiled and answered some questions, not all. At least he no longer looked as if he was going to leap out of his chair any second.

But Lily did wonder, if only to herself, how long it would take Riddle to untangle all the lies that Albus had bound Harry in, lies that even his parents had never been aware of.

*

"Sirius Black, don't you dare."

Sirius winced and then straightened up and tried to look at her with affronted dignity. The problem, Molly thought, was that Sirius had misplaced his dignity when he was young and had no idea where he'd left it. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you dare set up some kind of trap for young Harry and try to make him come back to the Order of the Phoenix or do your bidding otherwise." Molly folded her arms. Albus had explained the kidnapping plot to her and Arthur, and she'd held her tongue in front of him, but there was no reason to be quiet like that around Sirius. "Remember that he's your _godson._"

"What does that have to do with it?"

"Do you want him to keep loving you or not?"

Sirius looked genuinely startled and dropped the book he'd been reading on the golden grass. Behind him, his golden-green tent rippled gently in the breeze of their conjured world. "Of course."

"Then don't take him from his soulmate. He's finally happy. He'll never forgive you if you snatch him away from that."

"The emotional bond is confusing him. Once I get him far enough away from Riddle and block it, then he'll be able to listen to us and see the good in coming to join the Order."

Molly closed her eyes in weariness. Sirius had said something like that before, but she had thought he was just saying that in front of Dumbledore and he didn't really believe it. Now that he did... "I want you to leave Harry alone, Sirius."

"When it will mean that Riddle destroys all of us? And destroys the Order/"

"Maybe Harry will make a difference for him. Maybe he can teach Riddle how to love."

Molly didn't believe the words even as she spoke them, and from the incredulous sneer on Sirius's face, neither did he. "Right," he drawled slowly. "When nothing has so far. When he hasn't regretted the innocents he's destroyed up until this point or the minds of Muggles he'll wipe in the future."

"How exactly do you think that you can kidnap Harry even if you're right?" Molly asked, changing the subject. "You know that Riddle will have guards on his soulmate. He'll protect Harry more fiercely than any artifact."

Sirius winked. "No one on his side knows about my Animagus form, and the Auror guards around Harry know that he has this disreputable black dog who visits him sometimes. I haven't been human around the Aurors in years."

"That only covers you getting in," Molly said, folding her arms, even as her heart sank. Yes, that could work. "How are you going to get him _out_? Especially with Harry resisting?"

"A Stunner is going to take care of any resistance pretty fast," Sirius said. "Of course I'd never hurt my godson."

"How are you going to get him _out_?"

Sirius sighed and reached for something sitting on the ground next to him. Molly blinked when she saw it was a glass, wide-mouthed potions flask. Sirius could brew, but it had never been his best subject. James had once hinted that that was because their schoolboy nemesis, Severus Snape, had been remarkably talented at the art, and Sirius had avoided anything that reminded him too much of the boy.

That would be childish, Molly had to admit, but _like _Sirius.

The thick, glutinous potion in the flask made her do more than blink, though. "Sirius, _no_. Not Polyjuice."

Sirius shrugged. "Sure. Easy enough. Snip a bit of hair from Harry's head, transform into him, conceal him under a Disillusionment Charm, slip back out again. The Aurors haven't been ordered to stop any excursions that Riddle's pet soulmate makes outside the flats, but that's probably coming. I have to act fast."

"I don't think Minister Riddle wants to keep Harry captive."

"Oh, damn, Molly, not you too, with all the _benefit of the doubt_ and _why don't we think about this_," Sirius said, doing a high-pitched impression of Arthur's voice. "And giving him a respectful title? Where's the rebel? Where's the Order of the Phoenix matriarch who shouted encouragements as us during raids?"

Molly smiled despite herself, but shook her head. "I think it really is different now. It might all come right. Harry's Riddle's soulmate, but that means that he can't really change from our Harry, can it? I think he's going to change _Riddle _instead. We're going to get pardons the way James and Lily did, because Riddle won't want to disappoint him, and--"

"I wish I had your faith," Sirius said, in a voice so dismissive that Molly shut up in sheer outrage. "But I'm not going to wait around and just find out in the end that Riddle is the same bastard he always was. I'm going to steal Harry back."

"And then what?" Molly demanded. "You know that Riddle will tear the world apart to get him back."

"Not if Harry tells him honestly and openly to leave him alone and refuses the emotional bond, the way Albus did with Gellert."

"Albus didn't do that until Grindelwald was in a prison cell," Molly snapped. "You think Harry has any chance of getting Riddle there?"

Sirius hesitated too long. "No," he said finally. "But Riddle will have to back off once Harry tells him to."

"Ah." Molly squinted at him. "You think Riddle will respect that?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then, if he's _that _reasonable and devoted to his soulmate, we should be able to negotiate with him and get at least some of the pardons that we want from him."

Sirius clenched his hands for a second, but when he spoke, it was with frightening quietness that Molly wasn't used to hearing from him. "No, Molly. No. The whole point is, his government _isn't _legitimate. It doesn't have any authority over us. We didn't vote for Riddle. We shouldn't hold out for pardons because that implies that we did something wrong in the first place. Are you going to admit to that?"

"I would admit to a lot to go home."

"But would you give up your convictions? Could you sit back and just listen to Riddle's plans for Muggles and Muggleborns with a smile?"

Molly shook her head, reluctantly. More and more she was coming to wonder if the war existed, if their raids were on people who were all following Riddle or simply thought they came to the Ministry every day and _did _work for a legitimate government. But that wasn't convincing enough to make her abandon her beliefs.

Sirius smiled at her and picked up his flask of Polyjuice. "Then allow me to do some fighting for the greater good in my own way."

*

Peter stared at the letter that had arrived for him that day with a Ministry seal on it. He had been vaguely curious about it, but it had come during a heavy marking period for exams and he had thought it was probably only thanks from a former student who had been promoted up the Ministry's ranks, or maybe information on Animagus training. He had put it aside. In fact, he'd only opened it after dinner because the heavy golden seal had gleamed at him from across his quarters and he'd felt guilty.

Instead, it was from Minister Tom Riddle himself.

Seeking information about _Harry._

_Dear Professor Pettigrew,_

_As you may have seen in the papers, I have claimed Harry Potter as my soulmate. He has revealed some unexpected talents to me, and one of them is that he has a serpentine Animagus form. I would like to see the records from his third year, concerning the tests to find the form that the students usually conduct during that time. I would be especially interested in any discrepancies._

Peter had put down the letter at this point and clasped his hands over his face. Of course, when he looked again, there was only the Minister's signature after that. No more to read.

And the pleasant tone of the letter did suggest that he didn't think Peter a traitor or holding out on him. He probably thought, if anything, that the Headmaster had intervened to hide Harry's results.

But if Peter had to reveal that he'd _known _about this and he'd kept the knowledge to himself...

Peter swallowed back nausea. Harry had already written to him, he thought firmly. And he'd told Harry that he wouldn't spread around the knowledge, but he also wouldn't keep it quiet if someone asked him direct questions.

_Granted, at the time I thought it was going to be Aurors, and not the fucking Minister!_

Peter took a deep breath and blinked away the hysteria. It made all too much sense, Harry's determination to keep his Animagus form secret and stay the hell away from Riddle. But compared to that secret, nothing Peter had known would be anywhere near as interesting.

Peter sat down to write a calm, polite letter, or at least as calm and polite as he could manage, to the Minister telling him what he knew of that day when Harry's third-year class had tried to divine their forms. The more he wrote, the more true tranquility came back to him. It was really scraps, now that he thought of it. Harry had never trained to acquire mastery of his Animagus form or enter the Serpent Guard, so Peter could honestly say that all he knew was Harry's _potential._

His calm mood lasted until he had sent the owl off to Riddle, and then he stopped in the middle of the steps to the Owlery as he considered exactly how intent Riddle must be on pursuing all the _scraps _of knowledge kept from him about his soulmate over the years.

Peter closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. Harry's marks, Harry's Animagus form, he had thought those were the most "damaging" things he knew. But there was another secret, one from Harry's fifth year that he had tried not to think of often.

*

Peter frowned as he considered the heavy ward on a classroom that was most often abandoned because it was too cold to tempt couples with the privacy to snog. The ward argued that perhaps a seventh-year had decided to use it as a private studying spot, but Peter personally didn't know a seventh-year in the school who could cast a ward like that. It made the corridor around him tingle with power, and filled the space like a screen of frosted glass.

He might have thought it was one of his fellow professors, but it didn't have that familiar magical signature. And it didn't have a twist in the glassy wall of the ward that he would have expected if so--the one that kept Animagi out.

It only took Peter a moment to decide. The ward didn't seem dangerous, and he knew both Minerva and Mrs. Norris were far away from this corridor right now. He spun into the form of a rat, waited patiently for his senses and balance to adjust, and then scurried under the ward into the room beyond.

He blinked as he sat in the shadow near the door. The space was much brighter than he would have expected, thanks to floating globes of light that looked to have been sculpted out of crystal. Peter stared at them. He didn't _know _that spell.

Nor did he know the runic patterns that scored the flagstones, all of them white and traced in what looked like salt.

But he did know the young man who stood in front of them, his eyes closed and his arms folded. His breathing was slow and soft, much more so than Peter would have said someone who darted around like Harry could attain, and his left hand moved back and forth in a regular, wobbling pattern.

"This has to work," Peter heard him whisper, and then Harry lifted his head.

Peter would have backed away if it wouldn't have drawn attention to himself. The only green eyes he had seen burning like that were in a cat's face.

Harry spun on one heel and then ran forwards, directly towards the salt runes. As Peter watched, they stretched up and around him, in shimmering transparent walls rather like the glassy one the ward had created in the corridor. Harry passed through them, and the runes caught and twined themselves around his right arm, the one with his phoenix soul-mark that he'd started showing this year.

Harry skidded to a stop, in a way that somehow didn't disturb any of the salt patterns, and stared at his arm. A second later, his face crumpled.

He put his face in his hands and sighed out. The sigh didn't have tears in it, but so much defeated weariness that Peter was tempted to transform and comfort him. He didn't think Harry would like it, though.

And as he watched Harry sweep up the salt with a gesture of his left hand and wandless magic spiraled through the room, Peter wasn't sure it would be wise, anyway. There were things going on here that he had no knowledge of.

He scurried out of the room and resumed his human form a good distance from the room, in the meantime wondering what Harry had been doing. Salt runes were sometimes used in Divination rituals, Peter knew that. Had Harry been hoping to find a clue to his soulmate by using this?

*

Peter grimaced and continued walking towards his office. No, now that he knew what he knew, he suspected Harry had been using the other kind of salt ritual: the kind that would _erase _a soul-mark if properly done.

Except that Peter didn't think it _could _be properly done, not in the way that so many people wrote and whispered about. He had never heard of it working--and he had studied it extensively himself, with his black-edged soul-mark. Harry had tried it out of desperation, and the evidence that at fifteen he had loathed himself and his fate to that extent made Peter cringe now.

That was also probably something Riddle would want to know about Harry.

Peter leaned against the wall for a moment and rubbed his face. Was he betraying Harry's best interests by continuing to hold that knowledge to himself? Perhaps Riddle could get Harry to visit a Mind-Healer where no one else had managed it. Perhaps Harry needed that kind of help to work through what Peter was sure was the upending of his world and the complicated tangle of his emotions.

But he knew only _perhaps _concerning that kind of knowledge, and only _yes _concerning something else: Harry would take it as a betrayal if Peter broke his word and volunteered information that wasn't in response to direct questions.

The thought of the Minister taking it as a betrayal if he kept his word to Harry made Peter quake, but he shook his head and stood up. He had been useful here at Hogwarts, a competent Transfiguration professor who had stayed for years, unlike some of the people Minerva had tried before him. He would cast his lot with Harry unless things drastically changed, and trust in his record to make Riddle spare him.

_I just hope it works._

*

Tom narrowed his eyes in interest as he watched Harry move around the flat. Tom had come earlier for a somewhat strained dinner with the Potter parents, but they had proven they could tolerate him for Harry's sake, which was all he could ask for right now. Harry, though, had uttered splintered laughter, while splintered emotions flowed down their bond.

Tom leaned back in his chair. It seemed Harry had accepted that he couldn't lie to Tom, but that wasn't keeping him from trying another tactic: not talking about things and hoping that Tom would let the silence continue. It was nearly cute, but Tom wouldn't let his own amusement keep him from asking the obvious questions.

"What's troubling you, Harry?"

Harry's shoulders hunched. "I don't want to talk about it."

Lily Potter turned around from where she'd been quietly talking to her husband and looked at Harry in something like alarm. "Is it something to do with the Order?" she asked.

Tom would have put Galleons on it being their soul-bond, himself, but that was one reason it was good to surround himself with people who saw and knew things he didn't. Harry flinched and stepped back from the kettle he'd been scrubbing. A quick dart of wandless magic from him kept the kettle from falling to the floor, but Tom didn't let himself be taken in by the distraction, the way James Potter had, if his sharp exclamation was any sign.

"Trouble shared is trouble halved," Tom said, helpfully quoting something he remembered hearing Albus say to a Gryffindor in his year.

From the narrow stare Harry gave him, he had heard the saying, too, and knew exactly where it came from. But he shook his head and floated the kettle back onto the counter so he could clean it some more. "Not this one."

Tom gathered up his own magic, and saw the Potter parents flinch. He had added a bit of darkness and lightning to his aura, just for them. Unlike Harry, they couldn't sense the invisible buildup of his power. "Dear Harry. The request to talk is no longer a request."

Harry ignored him utterly, and set the clean kettle in the sink. Then he turned to his parents, and nodded. "Don't worry about it, Mum and Dad. I'll handle it."

"But you shouldn't have to do it alone," James said, his face bright with concern. "Let us help, Harry."

Tom watched in interest to see if Harry was going to respond to that, although he kept his eyes half-lidded so that his interest wouldn't show so obviously. Harry swallowed and said, "This is something I have to handle by myself. It involves other people's secrets."

That came with a flicker of a glance in Tom's direction. Tom smiled and said, "I love learning secrets."

"_Other people's._"

"Those, too," Tom agreed easily.

"I won't tell them to you."

Tom pushed back his chair and stood up. Harry faced him with his arms crossed and hostility radiating from him more strongly than his power.

"Surely, Harry," James began, sounding a little nervous. He seemed to think Tom and Harry would engage in a duel right in the middle of the kitchen.

Luckily, Tom had more weapons than that at his disposal. He leaned forwards, made sure that his eyes were focused on Harry's, and lifted the shield that had been dampening his emotions while they ate dinner, sending a bolt of honest pain and fear of rejection towards Harry.

Harry gasped, then shut his eyes tightly. A second later, he curled his fingers into a gesture Tom had noticed he'd used before when he wanted to keep emotions at bay, and asked, "Can you give us some privacy, Mum, Dad? Please?" he added, when neither one of his parents moved.

Lily touched James's arm, and they had what must have been their own silent conversation down their soul-bond. Then Lily nodded. "Of course," she murmured, and they exited.

Tom turned back to Harry. "There's something you're not telling me."

"I'm astonished."

Tom shook his head. "Haven't we settled by now that keeping secrets doesn't work out in anyone's favor? Besides, I let your friends who _murdered _my people leave without arresting them." Unsaid was the option, which Harry surely knew he was considering, of arresting them in the future. "This secret can't be worse than the knowledge that they want to meet you."

Harry turned away and paced slowly towards the window that looked out from above the sink down onto the entrance of the building. Tom wondered idly if Harry could see his Aurors standing there. Tom had doubled the guard after he had found out that Whipwood was a traitor, but Harry hadn't said anything about it.

"This is a secret that no one on your side has ever found out about," Harry said at last. "I know for sure that everyone who knows it and belongs to the Order is utterly loyal to Dumbledore. Can you see why it feels different than you knowing about Ron and Hermione? Especially when you knew about their crimes before I did?"

Every one of Tom's senses came to straining alert. _He's bitter about that. I could use that. I could poison his relationships with--_

He looked up to see Harry staring back at him, eyes narrowed slightly and body poised as if he was going to start a duel any second.

"And that's precisely why I don't want you to know those secrets," he said flatly.

Tom wondered for a second whether his Occlumency was full of enough holes that his thoughts had leaked across, but then cursed himself for a fool. His emotions were traveling down the bond right now, of course. He came up and leaned on the sink beside Harry, staring out the window.

"Then what can you tell me without betraying the central secret you consider so important?"

Harry stirred next to him. Tom didn't remove his eyes from the street.

"You would accept that?" Harry whispered.

Tom wanted to snap that he wasn't so much of an ogre as all that, but held back the words at the last moment. Of _course _Harry thought he was as much of an ogre as all that. He had been raised to believe that, had that hammered into his head all his life.

"Yes," Tom said. "Not happily. Not without wanting you to trust me with everything. But that doesn't matter, Harry. I want to compromise, I told you that. I need to know something about what's making you so miserable. You need to hold back part of it. I understand that. So tell me what you can."

Harry reached out and did something he had never done before. His hand clasped the phoenix made of onyx and diamonds hanging around Tom's neck. Tom closed his eyes, mourning that he had made the deaths of the fools who had burned off his soul-mark so quick. He would have liked to see the blue flames dancing around Harry's fingers.

"Black and white feathers," Harry whispered. "Do you know what it means now?"

Tom turned his hand over so that he was clasping Harry's. Harry must have read one of the many interviews Tom had done, back when people still regularly asked him about his soul-mark, saying that he had many different interpretations of the mixed colors of his phoenix's feathers.

He murmured, "That you have so much potential for both Dark and Light magic. That you are drawn to highly contradictory sets of ethics. That you are in the middle, both things and not one or the other." He bowed his head to kiss Harry's wrist, and delighted in the ignition of the flames, without breaking their gaze. "I am sorry for your sake that it should be so, but still delighted to meet you."

Harry's smile was quick and fleeting, but there. "All right. The fact is that now my friends have tried and failed to get me to come to the Order, someone else is going to try. That's going to be my godfather."

Tom nodded. "Sirius Black. How?"

"Part of that is the secret I can't tell you." Harry's hand tightened furiously around Tom's wrist for a second. Tom pulled back on the pulses of pain in their emotional bond, and waited. Harry began speaking again a few seconds later. "But I know that Sirius could never believe I was insane or evil. He'll believe that I'm influenced by you, though. His--the message I got from him before dinner said as much."

Tom stared at him. "I didn't see you receive a message."

"Secrets, Tom."

Tom tilted his head, recalling what he knew about Sirius Black. He had had a soulmate, but the man had left Black behind years ago, after some kind of altercation that none of Tom's spies could clarify for him. That was a complete rejection, the only thing other than a death that could limn a soul-mark in black, which meant-- "Telepathy?"

Harry jerked away from him, hands flying out and glassy shimmers of light surrounding them like bracelets.

"I didn't read your thoughts," Tom said quietly. He held his own hands up, though from the wild emotions pulsing down the bond, Harry didn't believe he was harmless like that any more than Tom thought Harry was. "I promise. I know that when someone completely rejects their soulmate, both of them gain a kind of telepathy."

Harry gave several heavy blinks. "I--we thought it was some kind of gift Sirius had cropping up," he whispered. "But then why has Remus never communicated with him?"

Tom shrugged, although given what he knew of Sirius Black, he had some suspicions. "I don't know."

"Where does the telepathy come from?"

"The souls desperately reaching for some kind of completion," Tom said, and watched the way Harry flinched. "At least, that's the prevailing theory. It doesn't happen when someone's soulmate dies, before or after they're born. Only with rejection."

"Sirius would hate thinking that."

"Don't tell him, then," Tom said, and listened with some satisfaction to Harry's rusty chuckle. "Fine. So he told you that he's going to come and fetch you out somehow. What did you say in response?"

"That I would be waiting for him."

"And do you think you can talk him away from his loyalty to the Order?"

Harry swallowed, while the bond turned thick and dark and anxious. "No. I was going to tell him the truth, about why I want to stay with you, and then probably say goodbye. I don't think he'll ever turn his back on Dumbledore."

"But he doesn't want to give you up, either."

"No." Harry's eyes were shadowed. "I think his plan probably involves kidnapping me if he can't talk me around."

Tom smiled brightly, knowing from the shudder Harry gave that he could feel the heat coming down their bond. "That is _not _going to be happening."

"Tom, you can't kill him. I won't forgive you that."

The bond hummed with simple truth. Tom shook his head. "I never intended that. I intended to neutralize him and keep him in the wizarding world so that you can have your best try at convincing him. Or he can be an honored guest while he listens to you."

"And if I can't, then you're going to make him a prisoner, aren't you?"

"He's a wanted fugitive coming back into the wizarding world, and he's also trying to kidnap my soulmate." Tom showed his teeth. "What do you think?"

"I won't let him kidnap me."

"If he's as skilled at slipping in and out of the wizarding world as he seems to be, you might not have a choice."

Harry shook his head once. His eyes, steady and clear, stayed on Tom. "I'll tell him that I want to stay."

Tom rolled his eyes. He wouldn't have done that in front of just anyone, but Harry had the context of the emotional bond to appreciate why Tom had done it. "You've described him as essentially a fanatic. Why would he listen to you?"

The way Harry stared at his hands told Tom that he wasn't sure Black would, either. Tom reached out and gripped Harry's shoulders, pulling him close and sighing at the feeling of physical warmth that joined that in the bond. "Listen to me, Harry. I'm willing to meet with Black myself, and explain a few things."

"Sirius wouldn't forgive me for that. He wouldn't forgive me for having this conversation."

"Do you care so much for his forgiveness that you can place it above mine?"

Harry closed his eyes. "I thought you wouldn't hold it against me for having secrets. I thought that was part of the bloody _compromise._"

"Not that, Harry. I won't forgive you if you allow yourself to be bloody _kidnapped _because you're so determined to give Black his bloody chance to speak."

Harry was silent. Tom quelled all the things he wanted to say and lounged against the counter. The emotional bond spoke for him, and for Harry. Small sparks shimmered and danced along it, burning with so many emotions that Tom couldn't distinguish them.

Harry finally looked up. "You can't be in the room when I meet with him. That's the secret I won't betray, how he gets past your Aurors."

Tom gritted his teeth, but nodded. He would know immediately if Harry was in danger, after all. "Then I'll wait in the back room of the flat here."

"No."

Tom leaned in and tapped his fingers sharply against Harry's soul-mark. "Compromise, Harry. I'm letting you keep the secrets. I'm letting you meet with a man you admit frankly wants to kidnap you. There's no way I'm going to go home and wait for news of your kidnapping in the morning."

"It won't come to that."

"Harry, if I could believe that you would fight him if he tried to take you, I would let you meet with him alone. But I believe that you're going to hold back. You're so determined to keep your godfather's regard that you'll cripple your defenses. And then I'll be dealing with the kidnapping. And you're in deep pain already, at the thought of betraying him and betraying me."

Harry licked his lips. "Then the same parameters apply that they did when we met with Ron and Hermione. Stay out of sight, don't speak, and only intervene if it looks like it's going to turn to physical violence."

Tom inclined his head. "I would never have asked for anything else."

Harry closed his eyes. "There's one advantage to this bond, at least."

Tom held back the hurt response he wanted to make, and asked, "Oh?"

"At least there's one person in my life who can never lie to me," Harry whispered, and accepted Tom's embrace.

*

Sirius stepped into the drawing room of the flat and sniffed deeply. At once he froze. There were lingering scents from James and Lily, who must have visited earlier, and there was Harry, standing in the middle of the drawing room rug and radiating nervousness. It really _was _Harry. Sirius's nose would have picked up the telltale smell of Polyjuice on his breath, even if whoever was impersonating Harry had taken it almost a full hour ago.

But there was another scent, too, in a back room that must have been a bedroom. Sirius had smelled it before on raids, thick and drenched in Dark Arts like so many of the artifacts in Grimmauld Place had been.

_Riddle was here._

"Hello," Harry said softly. "I need to talk to you--"

Sirius stared at Harry's face and saw through human eyes despite his four legs and fur. There was pain written all over Harry. Being in the middle like this was dismembering him with agony.

Even if Sirius did take him away to the Order's camp, he wouldn't be free from that position. There was only one thing Sirius could do that would guarantee Harry's liberty.

Harry opened his mouth to continue speaking, and Sirius transformed, the smoothest and fastest he'd ever done it since he became an Animagus. Then he aimed his wand and spoke the words of the spell that he'd planned on using to suppress the emotional bond that tied Harry and Riddle.

He didn't expect the scream that sounded as if it was ripping Harry in half.

Or the way that the wall between them and Riddle _dissolved_, and a storm of black and red magic curled into the drawing room, shapes in the middle of it like phoenixes with silver talons that aimed straight for Sirius's heart.


	15. Clouds

Tom rode in the midst of the clouds that his magic had formed, the fire burning so fiercely that he knew he had temporarily abandoned his body.

It was something that used to happen to him when he was young and incredibly angry; he would simply dissolve into fire. After the matron of the orphanage had tried to order an exorcism for him, Tom had learned to control it. The last thing he wanted was to die because of some stupid, uncontrollable reaction.

But he had used it when he'd murdered the enemies who had burned his soul-mark, and he would use it again now, to protect his soulmate from _anything _and _everything. _Out of the smoke he called the fiercest shapes he could, and they manifested as phoenixes, the shapes of his soul. Talons formed on them made of silver that would have killed a werewolf in seconds.

Through their eyes, and through the pain ringing down the bond as Black's spell tore it apart, Tom saw Black cowering. But he still tried to stand in between Harry and the phoenixes, as if he thought that Tom would ever harm his own soulmate.

The loyalty only maddened Tom further, and he screamed through all three beaks. _If he was that loyal, he would not have done this!_

Tom knew of the spell, but even he would never have cast it, no matter how much he hated a soul-bonded enemy. It got into an emotional bond and ripped it apart, patiently, bit by bit. It would have had no effect if he and Harry had been bonded twice, if they had already slept together in a full joining or linked their minds or completely entwined their magic. But one bond, this spell could handle.

Black was an idiot. He needed to die. Tom caught him between two of the phoenixes and raked their talons delicately across the man's bare shoulders, delighting in his screams as narrow slivers of flesh peeled off. The phoenixes flashed overhead and turned at the wall. Black would take a long time to die.

Harry was struggling up on his knees, his eyes running with tears of blood. He spread his hands towards Tom. "You promised," he whispered.

_I'll never forgive you if you kill him._

Tom managed to control the phoenixes and the fire so that they all hovered in a cloud near the ceiling, the phoenixes practically perched on the coils of flame. He breathed in and exhaled. What did it matter whether Harry forgave him or not? The spell was still spiraling, spreading out in concentric circles, destroying their bond. They _wouldn't _be soulmates after this. Tom didn't have to listen to him.

Black looked up at him, lips moving. Tom leaned the phoenixes down so that he could stare at the coward's mouth.

_Counter._

Tom flexed the talons of his phoenixes. There was no counter to this spell. He would know it if there was. No one knew more about soulmate magic than he did, not when he had spent years scouring books attempting to find spells that could summon his soulmate to him or help him identify their mark from a distance.

But on the other hand...

_Would _he have found spells written in books that were deep in the paranoid library of the paranoid Blacks? Some of them had given Tom their allegiance, but not all, with the Black beneath him being the most prominent example. And not all of them had shared books with him. There might be spells that would counter this one.

Tom spread his wings and screamed at Black. He could always kill him later, when this didn't work. The pain was tearing through his own mind, and Harry had stopped screaming, simply huddling on the floor.

Tom intended to make Black stop existing. The phoenixes all leaned forwards, and Black hastily snatched up his wand.

*

Sirius hadn't ever hurt this much, not even the day that his soul-mark had gained black edges. Honestly, he'd expected that after the way Remus had turned away from him when Sirius had used him as a weapon against Snape.

No, here was the child he had loved and wanted and played with so much as a kid _writhing _on the floor. And it was his fault.

_I should have known that that spell didn't just suppress an emotional bond, _Sirius thought, as he crawled over to Harry, who had screamed himself hoarse. Now only small whimpers came out of his mouth. _Nothing that you find in the books in my family's library can be that harmless. Of course it would unravel it._

Sirius gathered Harry gently up in his arms. Harry stared at him with unseeing eyes. Sirius took a difficult breath and leaned over him. "Harry, can you hear me?"

The whimpers stopped for a second, and Harry gave the merest nod. Then the whimpers started again. The unraveling of his bond probably hurt too much for him to get rid of the sounds.

Sirius drew his wand and closed his eyes. For a moment, the pages of the books in the Black library seemed to blaze in front of him. He had hated his parents, but the process of forcing him to memorize Dark spells at least had the merit that he really never _did _forget anything he'd read there.

Touching Harry's throat with his wand, he circled in the same motion that he would have used to cut another wizard's jugular vein, and heard the phoenixes scream in protest above him. He flinched, but it didn't affect his wand hand, another product of his parents' "concerned love." The blood leaking from the wounds on his shoulders didn't affect it, either. "_Conservare._"

The magic trembled through him, fed on the love that he felt for Harry, and leaped from him into the fraying bond tied around Harry and Riddle. Harry abruptly stopped making noise. Sirius clutched him close, afraid that he might have stopped breathing, too.

But then Harry opened his eyes wide and gave a sound like a demented hiccough. The phoenixes soared down from the rafters and landed around him, a feathery, metallic mass forcing Sirius away from his godson. He went with his hands raised and his head pounding with guilt. He'd never thought the spell would do anything like _this_.

The phoenixes and the fire shed about them coalesced into a human shape, and Tom Riddle turned scarlet eyes on Sirius. Sirius flinched back. He had never seen human eyes that looked like that. They burned as much as the fire.

"Stay in the corner, Black," Tom ordered. "And be _silent_." Then he curled his hand around something that must have been Harry's soul-mark, given the blue fire that leaped into the air around them.

Sirius retreated and said nothing, although he was already thinking of whether he would be allowed to return to the Order. He had already caused enough chaos. Maybe Riddle really could heal Harry.

Of course, that didn't prove he _loved _Harry. He could just want the doubled power that a soulmate who was in love with him could give him, the way Albus had always suspected. The theory made too much sense to Sirius for him to abandon it completely.

For now, though, if Harry could be healed...

It would be worth it, Sirius thought. Even if he _had _helped Riddle.

*

Harry shuddered as he reached out for the comforting stream of cool water, or it sure felt like that, that was pouring over him. He felt as if something had been sucking on his soul, separating it from him like marrow from a bone. He never wanted to feel that again, and he huddled against Tom's chest.

Tom either licked his temple or touched him with a curl of that multi-colored fire Harry had only caught a glimpse of out of the corner of his eye. "Darling," he said, in what might have been either English or Parseltongue. Frankly, Harry didn't think he was hearing with his ears right now, or understanding with his brain. "I have you."

Harry reached back to him, and now there was something to reach along. Their emotional bond was rebuilding itself, Harry saw, a complicated, glittering, subtle silver bridge that rose into the air in the form of long ribbons. Again, Harry didn't think he was seeing them through his eyes, but that hardly mattered. He grasped them with an exhausted cry.

A few seconds later, they stopped growing. Harry held them, feeling them writhe against his control. Tom's emotions were molten but distant, like a voice heard through a closed door. "What's happening?" he whispered.

"You have to build your half of it, Harry. I've come as far as I can with my half."

Harry lowered his head, trembling. His shoulders hurt, and his throat hurt, and his _being _hurt, and he didn't know how he could do this.

"I will be here. I will wait for you as long as it takes."

Harry lifted his head when he heard those words. How long had Tom _been _waiting already? Decades and decades, while his heart and his conscience grew more sluggish. And yet he had held more hope and faith than Harry had. Harry had given up the minute he really understood whose name he carried on his wrist.

He could do this. For Tom.

Harry reached down and into his magic, and a sparking silver ribbon slowly drifted out of him. Harry forced it to reach for the starry bridge that stretched between him and Tom. The ribbon connected, and Harry gasped as health and strength seemed to pour back into him, like the opposite of a Dementor's Kiss.

The darkened world around him bounced, and then Tom swept his arms around Harry and kissed him hard enough to bruise his lips. "You've come back to me," he said, while the bond between them _sang_.

Harry couldn't answer for a few minutes, while he ran his fingers through Tom's hair and down the nape of his neck, and explored the return of their emotional bond. He could feel arrogant satisfaction and shining anticipation crawling over him, and Tom's anxiety and anger and regret as a crust of emotions on top of the others.

And something as thick and dark as the chocolate cake that his parents had given Harry for his fifth birthday, underneath all of that. Harry reached out and grasped it, and then hissed and retreated. It was _hot_, Tom's hatred for Sirius.

"Remember what I said about my godfather," he murmured, opening his eyes to catch Tom's gaze.

"It's the only reason he's still alive," Tom said evenly. "He will have the chance to swear loyalty to you and accept honored guest status. If I think that he would do this again, I will kill him and take my chances with your forgiveness."

"You think you could--what? Seduce forgiveness out of me?" Harry relaxed against Tom and closed his eyes. Honestly, this was something close to normal for them already, discussing bloody murder while Tom held him.

"Yes. I would give better chances for that than forgiving myself if I let him hurt you again."

"I'm sorry," said Sirius's hoarse voice from across the room. "I'm so sorry, Harry."

Harry turned with a sigh to look at him. His godfather had long slashes across his shoulders that had torn the cloth of his shirt and also torn what looked like talon-shaped slivers from his flesh. Harry leaned his head against Tom's collarbone. "That's not good enough, Sirius. Who put you up to this?"

"I--I came up with it myself."

Harry flinched back. Even Tom's arms around him couldn't soothe this pain. Tom poured steady affection down the bond, though, and thoughts of blood that were reassuring at the moment.

_I have someone who can't lie to me about how much he cares for me, and someone who will never be loyal to Dumbledore._

"I didn't know what it would do, Harry! I swear I didn't!" Sirius was speaking so fast now it was difficult to understand him, although maybe that was also because he was waving his hands around and Harry had one ear resting against Tom's chest. "I thought it would just suppress the emotional bond between you and stop Riddle from influencing you. I didn't know it would _destroy _the bond. I'm sorry. I should have known better. The Blacks wouldn't have a spell that harmless in the book I got it from." He shuddered. "I'm sorry."

"Your apology is noted," Tom said, and his arms strained around Harry for a moment. "But forgiveness is not granted. You will swear an oath, Black, and you will remain here. You will not return to the Order."

"Well, I'm relieved that you're not trying to use me as a spy," Sirius said frankly. Harry listened, but he couldn't hear any joking tone in his voice. That was a good thing, he thought. It might mean his godfather was going to survive this evening. "I wouldn't be useful in that role."

"You are going to be kept as entertainment for my soulmate," Tom said. "And Chief Truth-Teller."

"What?" Harry and Sirius asked at the same time.

"Harry here is tangled up in lie after lie that Dumbledore told him, mostly to the point that I can't even find them all, and Harry is hardly going to volunteer every fact he thinks he knows and ask me whether it's the truth." The expression on Tom's face as he leaned back said he would of course be willing to do that if they had time. He kissed Harry once, and Harry melted against him before he could think about it. "You are going to be the one responsible for telling him the truths."

"But Sirius is just as corrupted by Dumbledore," Harry said.

"Hey!"

"Remember who I'm talking to here, Sirius," Harry said. "Corrupted _in his perception._"

"Yes, but Black also has access to both perspectives through knowing his family and Dumbledore in a way you don't." Tom trailed his fingers across Harry's scalp. Harry tried not to shiver too obviously in front of Sirius, but he probably wasn't doing a very good job. "In fact, he was indoctrinated in the opposite way you were, through people who thought blood purity was the truth and not a game."

"It's neither," Sirius muttered, sounding cross.

"Get Harry to tell you what I said to him about pure-blood rhetoric," Tom told Sirius, and faced Harry again. "He can offer you something that's not unbiased, but it will be nuanced. And he _should, _if he wants to live."

Harry just nodded. He understood things had changed, and Tom was going to be less forgiving than he would have been for a while. Frankly, Harry was still amazed that Sirius wasn't in bloody scraps strewn all over the floor of the drawing room.

He glanced around and blinked when he saw that the wall between the drawing room and the bedroom where Tom had hidden had indeed vanished. "And what are we going to do about _that_?" he asked, with a motion of his head.

"I have an architect who does regular repair work for me," Tom said casually.

"What? Not even the Minister for Magic has that," Sirius said.

Tom turned his head a little, and Sirius began an intense study of the floor. "You don't need to worry about what I have or don't have in terms of architects, Mr. Black," Tom said. "Only that I have enough sanity left to spare your life." He tightened his hands around Harry's arms, and they stood.

"Should I go explain to my parents?" Harry asked.

"The only thing you're going to do tonight is take a Dreamless Sleep Potion. Perhaps talk a little with Black first," Tom added, perhaps because he'd seen Harry's face. "But other than that, the potion."

"I hate Dreamless Sleep Potion," Harry said, knowing he sounded childish. But his chest still hurt, and the last thing he wanted was to add a foul aftertaste to his mouth. He tried to shift back, and Tom's fingers tightened like cage bars. Harry sighed. "It leaves my mouth tasting like mint for days afterwards."

"Who have you been trusting to brew for you?" Tom shook his head. "Mint is added as a sweetener only. I have one without it."

"I don't _like _it, Tom."

"This kind of soul-wound needs deep sleep," Tom said, in the sort of tone that meant arguing with him would change nothing. "You shouldn't use that much strength even on coming up with dreams."

"You don't use _strength _to come up with dreams," Harry said, although he wasn't sure of that at the moment. The room was closing in with soft corners of darkness, tucking it around him like a sheet. He sighed and leaned against Tom, who gently folded him under one arm.

"You will have to sleep," Tom said. "Perhaps an hour or so on your own, and then I'll wake you up to feed you the potion."

Harry sighed, but he was too far gone to protest.

*

Sirius swallowed. There was no way that was _Minister for Magic Tom Riddle, _blood purist, Muggle-hater, and complete bastard, bending above Harry with a soft expression as he cradled him in his arms.

But then the Minister stood up and turned around, and Sirius hastily revised his opinion. Yes, that was in fact the bloody bastard Sirius had committed himself to a war against, staring at him with slightly narrowed eyes that had a touch of crimson to them.

"You are lucky that you knew the countercurse," Riddle whispered.

"Because you would have torn me apart if I didn't, I know," Sirius said, and had regained enough of his courage to roll his eyes.

"I would have," Riddle agreed. "But the world, the Order that you care so much for, Dumbledore's life whether or not I could prove anything against him legally...I would have torn that apart, too."

Sirius stared at him. But the man appeared entirely grave. Sirius shook his head. "You know that Harry wouldn't have wanted you to do that."

"Your curse would either have killed him if the bond hadn't stopped unraveling, or it would have destroyed our soulmate connection," Riddle said. "I would not have been responsible to him for anything, then."

Sirius shivered. Honestly, he had never considered the fact that Harry might be some kind of _restraint _on Riddle if their soulmate bond ever became established. He had taken it for granted that all the influence would run the other way. "That's--not true," he said weakly.

"You cannot know, can you?" Riddle glanced back at Harry and then lifted him up. He must have cast a Lightening Charm on him, of course, but Sirius had to admit that he looked at the way Riddle cradled Harry and wished he had that for himself. "I'm going to require you to write a message to the Order."

"I won't betray them or tell you where they are!"

"Why," Riddle murmured, "do so many of you have the desire to become martyrs? Could it be that Dumbledore has cultivated the mentality in you that only martyrs are worthy of having their sacrifices respected?"

Sirius recoiled before he thought about it. Of course, he should have said that there was no _way _that was true and Riddle was being ridiculous, but now that he thought about it...

Hadn't he admired Albus for rejecting his own soulmate? Hadn't he envied Ron and Hermione, just a little, for getting put on the wanted list for crimes more severe than his? Hadn't part of him resented, before he figured out who Harry's soulmate was, that Harry had always received more of Albus's attention?

His own black-lined soul-mark had never seemed like such a sacrifice. Not when the event that had led to Remus's rejection had been a prank he had devised and not thought through carefully enough.

"What do you want me to say, then?" he asked, subdued.

"That you are here, and will not be leaving, and anyone who comes to search for you stands a chance of being captured." Riddle's eyes had already turned away from him and back to Harry, as if he thought Sirius unworthy of being looked at. "That you will not betray Harry, and that our bond still exists."

Sirius paused. "You _want _me to tell them that? You don't want to make them think that maybe it worked and pretend weakness for a little while?"

Riddle glanced at him over his shoulder. "I do not intend to hide Harry or betray him in public."

"I mean, just pretending for a little while--"

"_Is what I will not do, Black._"

The words were on the edge of Parseltongue, to the point that Sirius thought he was lucky to understand them. He found himself shrinking back and saying nothing. Riddle nodded briskly at him and turned away to take Harry into a bedroom. For now, a shimmering veil of magic replaced the wall that Riddle had dissolved with his magic.

Sirius stared after him and shook his head. He knew that Riddle’s violence should have horrified him. The loss of control implied that he could do terrible things to Muggleborns and other innocents if they annoyed him.

But all he could wish was that someone—and he didn’t know whether it should have been Remus or Albus—would have fought for him that way.

*

Tom laid Harry gently in the middle of the bed and then sank down in the chair next to him. He didn’t take his eyes from Harry, and he didn’t look around when he heard the rustling, muffled sounds of Black going into another room. He didn’t worry about Black fleeing back to the Order. Chains of guilt would hold him more strongly than any vow at the moment.

He _couldn’t _take his eyes from Harry.

Harry was pale now, breathing silently, but Tom could see his chest rising and falling, and that was enough to calm any incipient urge to kill people. Tom leaned his cheek on his hand for a moment and waited until his racing thoughts broke apart into clear pictures again.

No matter what Albus and his other enemies thought, Tom had never killed indiscriminately. If anything, he could force down his rage and wield it as a cold weapon at the appropriate time. That was what had made him able to carry out the murders he had, of Slytherin students who were older than he was and then people who were forewarned that he was coming. Crystalline fury froze everything in his mindscape and let plans and details and obstacles hover in front of him like a projection of a Pensieve memory, enabling him to solve problems before they came up.

But when he had felt the emotional bond eroding, he had reacted with that fountain of red-hot fury that had only ever lasted a second before. And what prompted it and came after it and filled him now was a fear that turned his thoughts icy and sluggish.

He could _not _lose Harry. He would awaken to a world that had changed irreparably—and not only for him. He imagined his magic unleashed not on Black but on dozens, hundreds, of innocents, and shuddered. That would make him no better than Dumbledore, and Tom could picture the disapproving expression on Harry’s face.

His soulmate was his tether to conscience. Dumbledore never should have attempted to drive them apart.

That thought sent sharp spikes of hatred through Tom’s mind, and Harry stirred on the bed. Tom quelled the thoughts and the emotions with them, and reached out to weave his hand through Harry’s hair. Harry turned towards him without waking, proof that the emotional bond could reach even through the darkness created by literally soul-deep exhaustion.

Tom told himself to calm down. Black hadn’t succeeded, and hadn’t even meant to do what he did. The Order hadn’t separated him and Harry. No one ever would again.

The fear was finally dissipating, sliding down the icy channels in his mind that had waited for it. Tom’s hand stayed in Harry’s hair, though, and he watched by him throughout the night, not sleeping himself.

He had to know that Harry would be there when he woke.

*

“So you used an unknown spell on my son that you expected to suppress his emotional bond to the soulmate that he’s _finally _gained.” Lily half-regretted speaking the words when the knife’s edge of them sliced into Sirius like it visibly did, but she couldn’t help herself. “After something that _already _showed we have no idea what we’re doing half the time and could have killed Harry!”

“You were just as complicit in Albus’s attempt to kill Riddle as I was,” Sirius muttered, his arms folded and his eyes on the table.

“But we didn’t do it again!” James snapped, leaning forwards on the other side of the table. Lily glanced sideways at him. James had been the one to insist that they owed it to Sirius to hear him out, but he was even angrier about this than Lily was.

“And I didn’t _knowingly _do it again, either!” Sirius threw his hands in the air. Lily studied him. As upset as Sirius had been when they came over to the flat and he began to tell them the story, he also appeared more—animated than he had in months in the Order’s camp. _As if the worst already happened and he knows that it can’t happen again, _Lily thought. “I thought it really would just suppress the bond and let Harry think more clearly. I didn’t know it would destroy it! And I didn’t know the destruction of the bond would have that effect on Harry or Riddle, either.”

“Fine,” James said, abruptly blowing away his anger in one huge breath the way Lily had never been able to. “Now you know. And I never want to see you do anything like that again.”

Sirius studied him for an uncertain moment. “Friends?”

“We never stopped being friends, Padfoot.” James clapped Sirius on the shoulder hard enough to bruise, which matched the emotions that Lily was getting down their bond. Mixed anger and relief and resignation. “And it’s good that we aren’t on opposite sides anymore, either.”

Sirius drew himself up. “I’m never going to be on Riddle’s _side._”

“We are,” Lily said quietly. “In the sense that we support our son, and you know that Albus won’t like that. I don’t agree with Riddle’s methods or the rhetoric he spouts. Harry is going to work on changing that, and I’ll support him. But you know that Albus would be even more pleased by the destruction of their bond right now than Riddle’s permanent defeat.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sirius sprawled back in his chair and frowned at the ceiling. “Either of you wonder why that is?”

“Because he believes Riddle will be more powerful than ever with the doubled power that the bond could give him,” James said, frowning at Sirius. “It’s the same reason that we all wanted to prevent Harry and Riddle from bonding. It’s too bad that it came to pass, in some ways, but I’m going to stand by my son no matter what.”

Lily wanted to sigh, but refrained. James was going to stand beside Harry, she knew that, but it was “too bad.” She hoped that James would either not meet Riddle’s eyes or bury that thought deep the next time they were around Riddle and his Legilimency.

“No, I mean. Why is it more important to prevent Harry and Riddle from bonding than it is to prevent the bastard from passing laws or gaining control of more Aurors or finding out about the Order’s hiding place?’

“I don’t think he ever came _close _to identifying the Order’s hiding place. And there’s no sign that Harry told him.”

“You’re still not really listening to me, James.” Sirius tipped his chair back so that his feet were resting on the table and his head was bumping the wall. “Dumbledore is overly focused on that damn bond. He approved the kidnapping plan I had, but he wanted me to cast that spell more than anything.”

“You think he knew what that spell did and that’s the reason he wanted you to cast it?” James jumped up and started pacing back and forth in the kitchen. “I’ll kill him. I’ll hunt him down and kill him!”

Molly was usually the person Lily exchanged glances of sympathy with, and usually about Sirius. It was a strange event to be doing it with Sirius about James instead. But they still did it, and Sirius rolled his eyes and said, “He can’t have known what it really did or much about it, or he would have suggested that I just cast it when I was close anyway, instead of taking the risk of kidnapping Harry and sneaking out past Riddle’s guards. He thought I had to cast it when I had one of the bondmates well away from the other. But I do think that he wanted the bond destroyed more than anything else.”

“Why?” Lily asked, since while she thought Sirius’s theory had merit, it didn’t give them an answer for Albus’s obsessive focus.

Sirius shook his head, and his voice was rough. “I don’t _know_. I just think that if Albus gets the chance, he’ll cast the spell on Harry, too.”

“Does he know the incantation?”

“No, I didn’t tell him that. But it’s not impossible that he could find books like the ones in the Black library that I learned it from.”

James nodded and relapsed into deep thought. Lily was the one who leaned forwards. “I knew I needed a project other than just decorating the flat and trying to rejoin normal life. Especially since persuading Harry to give Riddle a chance has been successful so quickly.”

Sirius glanced at her. “You’re going to search for the reasons why Albus is so eager to see that bond destroyed?”

Lily nodded. “There _has _to be one. And I’ll start with looking at my memories in a Penseive, along with James’s. It’s possible that he dropped bits of clues in front of us that we didn’t notice at the time.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Of course, Sirius. I intend to understand the reason that Albus Dumbledore is such a threat to my son. I understood why Riddle was, but Dumbledore remains a mystery.”

Sirius lifted his hands. “I’m just saying, what if it turns out that there _is _a real reason? Albus isn’t mad. What if he has a reason to believe it’s vitally important to the future of the world that Harry and Riddle shouldn’t bond?”

Lily sighed. “Then I’ll still be on my son’s side, but we’ll have to decide what to do about that. Maybe Riddle and Albus can be brought to consider peace talks.”

Sirius snorted. “I can’t see what would persuade Albus.”

“Neither can I,” Lily said. “But that doesn’t mean that I’m going to give up before we even begin. He’s still a human being, and he deserves better than what he tried to do to Harry.”

James rolled his eyes, but Lily only looked at him flatly. He wasn’t on Riddle’s side yet, either, not completely, which made him a hypocrite if she wanted to give Albus a chance. James winced and nodded as her emotions flowed down the bond. Lily drank from her own teacup and turned her mind to where to begin.

Part of Albus’s personal history was bothering her. She knew that he had rejected his bond with Gellert Grindelwald, but she didn’t know how they had met. Grindelwald had supposedly gone to Durmstrang and then had been kicked out for Dark Arts beyond the purview of what the school allowed. How had he got to Britain? Or why would Albus have gone to the Continent?

_That’s where I ought to begin, then._

*

Albus stared at the thick white potion in his hands with a feeling of great weariness. It was what was left of the poison that he had intended to use on Tom.

Well, had used. But in the end, all it had gained him was his enemy finding his soulmate and the loss of an important spy among the Aurors.

“You should tell them.”

Albus turned towards Gellert’s cracked and broken voice. He shook his head. “You know they would refuse to believe it was about them.”

“They should still have the chance to discover why you have been so against them all these years.” Gellert broke into sharp coughs, and Albus reached for one of the healing potions. He ignored the way that Gellert tried to fend him off as he poured the potion down his throat. Gellert had never wanted to die. He simply wanted to thwart Albus in any way he possibly could.

Albus waited until Gellert had swallowed. “I told you, they would not believe me. And I must be much further gone than I am before I would trust _Tom Riddle_, of all people.”

Gellert laughed. His voice already sounded stronger. He turned away and let his head rest on his arm for a moment as he murmured, “But you trust yourself, the judgment of a man who rejected his soulmate.”

“You never would have stopped, Gellert. You were intent on taking over the world.”

“You could have restrained me. If you had fully accepted the bond—”

It was an old argument, one that Albus had no intention of letting play out again. He went on as if he had not heard. “You would have corrupted me and brought me over to the Dark, and I would have done anything rather than betray my soulmate. You know the stronger personality of the two holds sway. The same thing would happen with Tom Riddle and young Harry, if I dared to trust them. They would become weapons of destruction because Harry could not overpower Riddle.”

“Do you dare believe that you are the only one who knows the true fate of the world?”

“I was the one a phoenix sought out,” Albus said simply.

After all, the argument had played out the way it always did, and Gellert had no more answer to that pronouncement than he ever did, closing his eyes and slipping into sleep. Albus watched him fall, and sighed out as he sat down in front of the fire at the back of the cavern.

Yes, he had regretted so much that he did in the past, but he could not regret the decision to reject his soulmate, or stand against the vision of the future that Tom Riddle and Harry Potter represented. He was playing out the vision the phoenix had shown him, and how could he have rejected _that_ and still considered himself a Light wizard?

*

Harry woke to find Tom watching him. He stretched slowly in the bed, grimacing at the aches that rang through his body, and asked, “Did you get any sleep at _all_?”

“No.”

Harry sighed and reached up to take Tom’s hand. The emotions soared through him, the fear at the back of the fireworks of rage and protection and fondness. “I’m still here. Sirius’s spell didn’t cause lasting harm.”

“We don’t know that yet.”

Harry knew he wouldn’t win if he tried to argue on that head, so he just nodded and murmured, “Fine. But you should know that I thought of something.”

“Yes?” Tom shifted so that he was leaning an elbow on the bed and halfway to embracing Harry, and his emotions made another light show in the back of Harry’s mind.

“Would that spell have worked if we had shared more than an emotional bond?”

Tom’s silence was answer enough, while the single bond between them at the moment raged and bounded as if it was a captive gazelle. Harry nodded. “I want to create another bond as soon as possible.”

“I don’t want you to feel pressured into it,” Tom murmured, looking at the far wall. “Or to want to create it for just _that_ reason.”

“I know,” Harry said. “And I want to wait to have sex with you.” Tom’s side of the bond shimmered again. “Or to open my mind to you.” He took a deep breath. “I need a chance to become comfortable with my own thoughts, first.”

“The magical one, then?” Tom’s thumb lingered on the pulse in the hollow of Harry’s throat.

Harry nodded. “There’s no reason to wait. Our magic is partially entwined already, most of the time. And I want—I want to know that you’re close to me and not about to leave me the way it felt last night, Tom.”

Tom’s smile lit the room like the invisible blaze of their bond did. He called up his power, and it swayed around him, full and brilliant as a silvery tree. Harry slowly did the same with his own magic. He had expected it to feel a bit battered and reluctant to respond after what the spell Sirius had wielded had done.

But it was no such thing. Harry’s power rose and sang, and the branches of a golden tree reached for Tom’s silvery one. Tom caught his breath as the “branches” mingled. Harry made no sound. What he felt ran too deep for that.

The sensation cascaded over him, the one he had only felt before the night of the Ministry gala when their magic had mingled on the dance floor. Harry closed his eyes and drifted within it, the cloud of strength and ferocity. He had always hesitated to defend himself as strongly as he might have when hurt, afraid that he would reveal his magic to someone’s inquiring glance. Now he knew what it felt like to have that ability and that _desire_.

Even if he had been hurt and wanted to hold back on hurting someone in return, Tom’s magic that ran partially through his veins now wouldn’t let him do that.

_So don’t get hurt, right_, Harry thought, and blinked and shivered, and focused on his soulmate as he said in a hoarse voice, “That spell of Sirius’s won’t work against us now.”

“No,” Tom breathed out in confirmation, letting one arm curl around Harry’s shoulders. “And I intend to make sure that nothing _else_ will, either.”

He pressed his lips against Harry’s then, and Harry was more than happy to go with it, swept up into a shining world where it felt, for just a moment, as though nothing would ever harm them again.


	16. Public

“Are you ready for this?”

It was Sirius who had leaned against the bathroom doorframe behind him to ask. Harry could see his face reflected in the mirror in front of him. Sirius looked ragged and tired, in a way that Harry never remembered him being in all the years he had been a fugitive.

_Then again, _Harry thought as he tightened the collar of his robes, _I don’t think he ever had the feeling that he’d done something wrong when he was on the run._

“I don’t think I’ll know until I see them,” Harry said, and turned around, aware of the heavy robes sweeping the rug beneath him. Sirius studied those robes and frowned at Harry. Harry shrugged a little, awkwardly. “I’ve never been on this kind of display before. The Ministry gala didn’t last all that long until our magic entwined. And no one knew I was Tom’s soulmate then.”

“If he asks you to do anything that you’re not comfortable with, you know you can refuse,” Sirius said, staring into his eyes.

“Of course I do,” Harry said. “And to a certain extent, this whole thing is uncomfortable. But on the other hand, it’s worth it to keep Tom.”

The magic behind Sirius shifted, which meant Harry didn’t jump when Tom murmured, “I am glad you think so.” But Sirius did, and came down with his wand in his hand. Tom gave him a look of scalding contempt before he looked at Harry again. A smile lingered in his eyes without touching his lips. “You look magnificent.”

Harry shrugged. He’d never worn dress robes before except the night of the Ministry gala, and these were a different sort. By the time he was old enough for the kinds of events at Hogwarts where he might have needed them, his parents had been on the run, and Harry couldn’t justify spending his limited money on luxuries like that.

“You should see the way the green makes your eyes shine.”

“He’s got a mirror right there, he can see,” Sirius muttered.

“You know as well as I do that he doesn’t look with the same eyes we have, Black.” Tom traced his hand up Harry’s cheek and he swallowed back intense embarrassment as he felt himself harden. Tom smiled at him in the way that meant he knew but would never betray it, and stepped back. “Ready for your first appearance in front of the Wizengamot?”

“I don’t see why they need to actually meet me,” Harry muttered, even as he followed Tom across the flat and managed to will his body to calm down. “I’m sure that members of the Wizengamot get married or find their soulmates all the time, and I’ve never heard of the whole lot of them needing to meet the new spouse or soulmate before.”

“It doesn’t happen all the time, actually,” Tom said, holding the outer door open for him. Harry frowned at him, which moved Tom not at all. The Aurors outside the door sprang to attention and fell in on either side of them. Harry felt the way Tom’s magic swayed to spread over them. Tom would take no chances after discovering that Whipwood was a traitor. “After all, most members of the Wizengamot have reached the age when they would have found their soulmates or given up on them already.”

“Which doesn’t say why they want to meet _me_.”

“You’ve declared the intention to make yourself a political player, to change my mind or slow me down. And you don’t think that it’s important for you to meet some of the most important people in Britain?”

“_They _don’t know that.”

“Of course they do. I said in that interview I gave yesterday that we don’t agree on all matters and I look forward to how you will change my stagnant thinking as well as that of other pure-bloods in Britain.”

Harry opened his mouth and found he had nothing to say for several dozen steps. He hadn’t read the interview because he found it embarrassing to be the center of attention like that, and if his parents or Sirius had, none of them had said anything. He finally managed to croak, after they had already Apparated to the point outside the Ministry’s Atrium reserved for the Minister alone, “What?”

“Yes, I thought it important to prepare them for you,” Tom said casually as he stepped through a shimmering silver ward that distracted Harry for a second. There were white lines in it that he’d never seen before. But the ward didn’t react when he stepped through it. “Of course, some of them will think that a license to target you and try to split us apart. I also look forward to the moment when you teach them better.”

“But you all but declared me your _enemy_.”

Tom chuckled quietly as they walked through yet another ward and out of the box of a stone courtyard they’d Apparated into, down a set of stairs, and through a second door into one of the corridors that ran through the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. “Consider that most people knew you used to favor the Order of the Phoenix, Harry. That’s not a surprise.”’

“You could have lied,” was all Harry could think of to say.

Tom glanced over his shoulder, and his eyes, brilliant and deep, caught Harry’s. Harry stopped walking. The Aurors did the same thing so as not to pile into him, but stared stoically over Tom’s head as he leaned in and caught Harry’s hand.

“I told Black,” he murmured, “and I am going to tell you now, that I never intend to lie about who and what you are, Harry. I trust you. I trust that our bond is more important to you than the need to score petty political points, and that you’ll come and talk to me about concerns you have instead of listening to my enemies and keeping your own counsel. If that’s not true, you can tell me now.”

Harry licked his lips and held Tom’s eyes. His joy was ringing through the emotional bond. Harry didn’t think it was all about getting one leg up on his enemies in the Wizengamot; not exactly, anyway. “It’s—true. You matter more to me than just hearing what your enemies have to say.”

Tom smiled and turned around and began to walk again. One of the Aurors coughed a second later, and Harry realized he was standing there and staring at his soulmate’s back like an idiot. He flushed and kept going.

He had been contemptuous in the past of the agents the Order had lost who had gone over to Tom’s side. Now, though, he could well believe the stories of how seductive Tom was.

He closed his eyes and willed down the reaction of his body again. Then he opened them and focused on Tom’s back as well as what would come when they stepped into the meeting chamber of the Wizengamot.

He had been an actor for years, and he’d been a good one, concealing his power, his intelligence, his ambition, his true goals, his loyalties. Now he would call on that same talent to give some apparent openings to Tom’s enemies instead of appearing as an immediate threat.

Tom didn’t want to lie about him? Fine. But Harry was going to find out the truth, including things Tom had done that would have to change but Harry hadn’t heard about, and he would do it in his own way.

*

Tom smiled a little as he watched Madam Moonwell heading towards them as fast as her cane could click across the floor. She would be wondering what had happened given that he and Harry had both said that Harry _wasn’t _his soulmate before this, and Tom had to admit he wanted to see how Harry would handle her.

Harry met her with a bland smile that Tom would have checked at, except that he could feel Harry’s actual emotions through the bond. Wariness and readiness combined, coiled like Nagini when she thought a mouse had found its way into Tom’s quarters. Harry held out a hand and kept it poised. Madam Moonwell had to shake it whether or not she’d been planning on it.

From the way her eyes narrowed as she studied Harry, Tom rather thought she enjoyed it. She snorted and said, “So you were hiding from your soulmate?”

“Him, and the rest of the world who might have tried to use me against him,” Harry said in a voice as bland as the smile, stepping back and pausing courteously in a way that Tom knew meant he was waiting for Madam Moonwell to find a seat. The woman scowled and remained on her feet. Harry shrugged and said, “But I decided that it was better to stop ignoring the obvious.”

“What about that article you published where you accused Minister Riddle of trying to seduce you?”

“The article’s a bit outdated,” Harry said. “After all, since then he’s succeeded.”

Madam Moonwell tapped her fingers on her stick for a moment. “Are you happy about the age disparity between you and your soulmate, Mr. Potter?”

“Being unhappy about various aspects concerning my soulmate bond kept me from approaching Minister Riddle for years,” Harry said softly. “I’ve learned better than to curse fate and wish things were different. I’ll trust magic to guide us, and my own native intelligence to know when it’s Minister Riddle trying to do it instead.” He tilted his head back to give Tom a gaze that was too wry to pass as adoring.

Tom smiled slowly back, pleased when Madam Moonwell cackled. “_Well, _Mr. Potter, I can see that you’re going to shake things up,” she said, and moved out of the way as a few other members of the Wizengamot drifted forwards.

“So this is your soulmate, Minister Riddle.” Arcturus Black didn’t use a cane to walk, but Tom happened to know that was because of potions and his own stubbornness. He stared at Harry from narrowed grey eyes beneath a mass of hair almost the same color. “Looks a young thing.”

“Old in necessity, Mr. Black,” said Harry, and didn’t look disconcerted when Arcturus circled a bit closer. Tom just watched. Arcturus was an old shark, but he wouldn’t try anything completely underhanded in public.

“I suppose that you agree completely with your soulmate, then,” said Laurentius Lestrange. Tom cordially hated the man. He could say things with slight pauses that others couldn’t with the most veiled insinuations. “Since you are…joined.”

Tom didn’t let his eyes flicker. Harry offered Lestrange a smile as cool as the blue eyes watching him and said, “Actually, no. I don’t like Minister Riddle’s voting record on the issues of Muggleborns and Muggles. I’m willing to listen and learn in case there are nuances I’m missing, but wiping someone’s mind free of memories if they talk about magic to other Muggles is not a _nuance._”

Tom suppressed a twitch. Trust Harry to begin their disagreements in public with _this_.

Lestrange gave a low laugh. “But that is only natural, coming from the son of a Mudblood.”

Tom could feel the indrawn breaths all over the room, and the eagerness to see what Harry would do. Harry stared at Lestrange with slightly widened eyes, and their bond throbbed in a way Tom hadn’t felt before.

But all Harry did was shake his head and murmur, “Is this the famous subtlety of the Wizengamot? Using a slur in _public_? I suppose I should thank my father for marrying my mother, or the Potters could have ended up marrying relatives who had already all married each other, the way some families did.”

Lestrange’s face darkened. Tom wondered if Harry actually knew that the speculation was rampant that Laurentius’s mother, supposedly an “adopted” child of the Lestranges betrothed to their blood son, was really his grandfather’s bastard daughter and thus married to her half-brother.

“You should…watch what you’re saying, half-blood.”

“I can give you the name of a good Healer who treats speech impediments, if you want one.” Harry’s eyes were wide and utterly guileless.

Lestrange turned and walked back to his seat. Black remained where he had been, eyes and face both blank. Madam Moonwell was cackling openly.

“At least someone in the Wizengamot will have a _spine_,” she said, and nodded to Tom. “I approve of your soulmate, Minister Riddle.” She went back to her own seat, followed a moment later by Black.

Harry watched them go, then glanced sideways at Tom. “But I don’t have an official place in the Wizengamot, right? It would seem undemocratic if I did just because I’m the Minister’s soulmate.”

“You think anything about the Wizengamot is democratic?” Tom asked softly as he guided Harry to the side where their own seats waited. Harry’s guest chair was made of silvery birch wood, to distinguish it from the darker and heavier seats of the Wizengamot, but Tom had thoughtfully removed the chains that usually would have coiled on the arms and could have bound Harry to it. “Half of the people here run various departments in the Ministry; they’re either my appointments or ones made by prior Ministers. The others are people _chosen _by their peers, who are previous members. It takes enormous scandal to get someone removed from the Wizengamot, and mostly they have enough money and connections to squash a scandal before it appears.”

Harry was silent, his eyes traveling around the room. “I still don’t like the idea that my presence here only isn’t objectionable because it’s not _more _objectionable than anyone else’s.”

“Then that’s another thing you’ll need to work to change,” Tom murmured as he took his own heavy seat. “I will warn you that it’s not easy. The Wizengamot system has endured hundreds of years with little incentive to change.”

“You’re the only democratically-elected member here,” Harry seemed to realize abruptly, and stared at Tom. “_You_.”

“It makes you shiver, doesn’t it?” Tom said, and gave Harry a half-smile before he stood and called the meeting to order.

*

_Shit_.

Harry stared at Tom’s back as he intoned some empty formalities that apparently always began the Wizengamot meetings, while his disbelief swayed back and forth like a striking cobra.

If the Order had killed Tom, then probably one of the Wizengamot members would have taken over as Acting Minister until an election could be held. Given how slowly the Ministry moved, that might be months—probably closer to years. And if the one who took over was someone like the Lestrange who had insulted Harry, then things might actually have got _worse _for Muggleborns and Muggles with Tom’s assassination, not better.

Harry closed his eyes, but only for a second. There were people who would be watching for that, and consider it a sign of weakness.

He had never thought of Tom as a restraining influence on the Wizengamot. After all, they seemed to do mostly what he wanted, and legislation that Tom championed was passed most of the time. He had played his pure-blood rhetoric games with them, and stood aside with a smile when they said things in public that Harry would have deemed unforgivable.

And Harry still didn’t think that was _right_. Maybe Tom wouldn’t have got far with open opposition to some of their policies, but he at least might have turned the Wizengamot into a space where people like Lestrange couldn’t just walk up to a stranger and say “Mudblood.”

Dumbledore, though, didn’t have influence here as far as Harry could tell. Unless that was another of those things about the Order that he had been considered unfit to learn? But otherwise, it seemed that he would have murdered Tom and then just left the Wizengamot to continue on their conservative and pure-blood course. Harry didn’t think that was much of a plan.

_So neither of them is completely right. Well, I knew that. _

It meant that he would have to go further into politics than he had thought. Harry thoughtfully rubbed his soul-mark and sat back to watch some of the dynamics of the Wizengamot at play. He would treat this as a fact-gathering mission for the moment, unless someone else approached him and tried to insult him the way Lestrange had. Then he would defend himself with all the wit and strength at his disposal, and he didn’t care if it played havoc with Tom’s plans.

From the soft humming of the bond in the back of his mind, though, Harry could tell that Tom was _pleased_ with his performance so far.

Wearily, Harry prepared to listen to what the prejudiced idiots said, and wondered if he would ever understand his soulmate.

*

“May I ask a question, Madam Moonwell?”

It was the first time Harry had spoken for more than an hour, while the Wizengamot traveled through the necessary formalities and then a few debates were held on proposals Tom didn’t care much about. The people who wanted to remove Muggle Studies from the rotation of classes at Hogwarts would never gather the necessary votes, and therefore he ignored both the desultory debate about it and the storm gathering in his bond.

Tom was willing to talk to Harry about why he’d ignored that discussion at any point, but it seemed Harry had a question for someone else. Madam Moonwell flashed him a quick smile and didn’t sit back down from where she’d stood up to give a blistering speech about why the last thing the wizarding world needed to do was encourage ignorance. “Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“Why did you say that we need to pay more attention to Muggles, but you also voted three months ago for that law that says Muggle parents of Muggleborns should have their minds erased if they talk to other people about magic?”

“Because there’s a difference between isolationism and laxness about security.” Madam Moonwell thumped her cane on the floor. “The parents of Muggleborns were already warned not to talk about it in the past. It’s just that there were no consequences if they did. Now, we’re keeping the promise the earlier warnings implied.”

“And you don’t think that taking away their ability to reason is extreme?”

“Not if we warn them about it. Would you feel sorry for someone who was warned away from a canyon and then insisted on jumping into it anyway?”

“When someone else had the ability to build a secure fence around that canyon? Yes, I would.” Harry glanced around at the other members of the Wizengamot without bothering to stand up. “We’re supposedly superior to people without magic, and yet we can’t come up with anything better than _this_?”

“You might be interested to know that your soulmate was one of the enthusiastic proponents of that law,” Arcturus Black drawled.

“Oh, I know that,” Harry said, although Tom could feel how Harry’s magic singed the edge of his and knew Harry hadn’t counted on the “enthusiastic” part of that. “And I think he’s wrong, too. But at the moment, I’m asking people I thought had some good sense why they voted for it.”

“We have to do something to protect ourselves,” said Amelia Bones, although from the set of her mouth, Tom knew she was unhappy. She had bitterly fought the law, and it was only her loyalty to the Ministry and her policy of not questioning his decisions in public that was driving her words now. “I don’t think this is the right way, but… it’s true that the Obliviators are being called out twice as often as they used to be, and two-thirds of the incidents in the past six years weren’t for accidental magic or drunken pranks, but because parents of Muggleborns decided to tell other Muggles about magic.”

“I was unaware of that,” Harry said. His voice was thoughtful. “And do you know, it still never would have _occurred _to me to leap straight to destroying someone’s mind. It makes me wonder what convinced _all _of you this was a good idea.” He turned to look at Tom.

Tom met him, look for look, and said blandly, “It was the only way to have an absolutely foolproof solution to the problem.”

“Amazing that it was never necessary before.”

“We never had so many Muggles willing to expose our world before.”

“I can think of three better solutions right now,” Harry said. “Do you want me to name them, Minister, so that you don’t have to tax your brain thinking them up?”

More than one member of the Wizengamot gasped. Tom had dueled for lesser insults.

Then again, those duels had been over twenty years ago, when Tom was still climbing the ranks of the Ministry, and Tom had ensured that they had become so legendary that he didn’t _have _to fight more. He settled in with his arm crooked and his smile soft and amused, and said, “Tell me, Mr. Potter.”

Harry held Tom’s eyes and nodded. “The first is the kind of simple vow that doesn’t depend on magic, except for the person who acts as the bonder. Have the Muggles swear on their children’s wands that they won’t tell other Muggles about magic unless they already know. The vow will literally deprive them of their voices if they try to say anything about it, even on accident.”

“Muggles _can’t _make vows like that,” said the nasal voice of Gerard Greengrass, who lacked to pride himself on his knowledge of spells. “It still depends on magic!”

“The magic of their children would be sufficient,” Harry said, without bothering to look away from Tom. “The blood link between parent and child will activate the vow.”

Tom laughed softly. He enjoyed the gapes on the faces of the other Wizengamot members as much as anything. “And what do you intend to do if they refuse to make such a vow?”

“Then place them under a Forgetfulness Charm focused on the word _magic_ and similar ones.” Harry shrugged. “It would be awkward because it would make it hard for them to talk with their children about their schooling, but there could be workarounds, while it would make what they were trying to say virtually incomprehensible to anyone who doesn’t already know the secret.”

“That doesn’t seem all that much more secure,” Madam Moonwell called out. “Is the third method going to be less secure still?”

“No.” Harry hesitated for the first time. “Tie their memories of magic to the presence of their children and owls. They won’t even think about magic when their children are at Hogwarts or they’re not reading a letter from them.”

“They could still tell a Muggle the truth about magic as long as their child was there, or a letter,” said Lestrange, looking triumphant.

“Sir,” Harry said, his eyes opening a little and his voice dropping, “don’t you _know_ how tying memories works? It means that they also won’t be able to _talk _to anyone, by any method, about magic except for the people the memories are tied to, or by letters on owls. And they certainly won’t be sending owls to ordinary Muggles.”

Someone chuckled in the background. Tom didn’t want to look away from Harry to figure out who it was, but it sounded as though it might be Aelia Malfoy. That was a feat, getting her to respond that way. Normally, she would never have laughed at something a half-blood said; she looked straight through Tom himself most of the time.

“Of course I know how tying memories to the presence of a particular person or method of communication works, Mudblood!” Lestrange was on his feet, vibrating with rage. “And I know that no spell like the one you describe exists!”

“It does with the Greater Version of the hex,” Harry said flatly. Then he paused, and his mouth opened in faux confusion. “Unless…oh, _dear_, sir. Are you going to tell me that you can’t cast the Greater Version of the hex?”

Another titter, although Tom didn’t think that was Aelia Malfoy this time. Perhaps Hyacinth Parkinson.

“I am more than powerful enough to cast spells of all kinds! But you are talking about a spell that does not _exist_!”

“Would you like me to demonstrate it?” Harry asked coolly.

“You cannot draw your wand in the Wizengamot chamber!”

“Then why do you have _yours _half-drawn?” Harry asked, a beat ahead of Tom opening his mouth to say that there was no such rule.

Lestrange was silent now, but Tom knew the way his nostrils were flaring. He unclenched his hand slowly from around his wand and pointed a single finger at Harry instead. “I challenge you to a duel, Mr. Potter.”

“Accepted,” Harry said at once. “But in the meantime, did you want me to cast the Greater Version of the hex?”

Lestrange sat down and proceeded to ignore Harry completely. Madam Moonwell gave a cough that sounded more like a cackle and focused on Harry again. “We didn’t think about the last solution because not many of us seem to know this Greater Version of the common hex that you’re talking about,” she said solemnly. “But the others are not foolproof. The Muggles still might find some way around them.”

“Is erasing their memories really foolproof, either?” Harry asked softly. “Won’t Muggles be moved to investigate when someone who’s young enough not to suffer brain ailments, which many parents would be, suddenly loses all their memories and regresses to a child-like state? If it happens often enough, couldn’t they notice a common pattern? And what about the Muggleborns you’ll alienate with this? They’ll turn their backs on the world that damaged their parents, won’t they?”

As he spoke the words, he abruptly turned his head and stared at Tom. Tom raised an eyebrow. There was a long shiver of cold moving down their bond, but he wasn’t sure what Harry had noticed or realized.

Something they would have to talk about later, from the way Harry turned pointedly to face Madam Moonwell. Madam Bones, meanwhile, was nodding firmly. “Those are good points that we didn’t consider closely enough,” she said.

“We didn’t consider them closely enough because there is _nothing to consider._” Arcturus Black’s voice was a hiss. “We have to protect ourselves! Muggles will be willing to suffer a bit of humiliation or pain to expose our secret, because they hate us. They are jealous of our power. We have to destroy their memories if they speak. Nothing else will work.”

“But you haven’t tried it, have you?” Harry asked quietly. “Nor did you need it in the past, when Muggleborns’ parents presumably had this same jealousy and hatred, but didn’t spread around the secret. What’s changed, and why is there a sudden increase in the number of people who want to do so? That’s the kind of pattern and increase you should _investigate._”

“You’ve been very quiet, Minister Riddle,” Black said, turning the strike. “Does your soulmate speak for you, too?”

“As you know, I voted for the law,” Tom said, arching his neck a little so that he could show off the profile of his face if Harry looked over at him. “I thought we needed an immediate and permanent solution to the problem. But it is intriguing, as Mr. Potter says, that suddenly we have any number of Muggles willing to tell their neighbors about magic when the number of them in the past was very small.”

He spoke in a relaxed drawl, and he found what he was looking for. There was a tightness to Black’s shoulders that hadn’t been there a moment before.

“That is not a pattern I noticed,” Tom continued, “and it’s something that we need to think about. Madam Bones, do you think that you might task some of the Obliviators with talking to Muggleborns’ parents? Ones who haven’t been put under the new spell yet, for preference, but those who might have shown some tendency to want to brag about their children’s magic or achievements.”

Amelia nodded at once. “I can think of several who will be happy to take on the duty, Minister Riddle.”

“Good, then.” Tom glanced at the papers spread out in front of him. “And I understand that you wanted to bring up an addition to the classes at Hogwarts, Madam Malfoy?”

“Yes,” Aelia Malfoy said, standing. Her face was so pale as to look bloodless, and she had white hair that cascaded down her shoulders, but then again, she always had. She was a Malfoy by birth who had apparently, according to the rumors, never married because she had never found someone worthy of her. “I am given to understand that most young wizards and witches do not know how to write with a quill when they arrive.”

“The Mudbloods, of course,” Lestrange said, not seeming to notice that more than one person had shifted their chair or gaze away from him. “Why would they know it? They grow up with all manner of Muggle devices.”

Malfoy turned to stare at him, and Lestrange winced. Tom had forced himself to grow accustomed to the stare of those pale grey eyes, but few other people had.

“I am talking about my own great-nephew, and other relatives of mine,” Malfoy said in a passionless voice. “I could barely read Draco’s letters, and he grew up entirely in a pure-blood household. I propose a class that would tutor students in this skill as well as others, including the proper ways to clean their hair and nails, during their first term at Hogwarts.”

“_Clean their hair and nails_?” demanded Madam Moonwell.

“Too many pure-blood children assume that their house-elves will take care of everything,” Malfoy said, glancing at Moonwell. “Or did you not have to suddenly improve your hygiene after a few years at Hogwarts when you realized that certain people whose attention you wanted to attract were avoiding you?”

Madam Moonwell blushed heavily and opened her mouth, then shut it. Tom cocked his head and wondered how Malfoy knew Moonwell had been one of those people. Or perhaps it had simply been a lucky guess.

“We can of course talk about such a class,” he said. “The difficulty comes in seeing who should teach it. There are not NEWTS in quill-writing or household charms.”

“Any wizard or witch with mastery of these skills could teach them.” Malfoy was staring through him now. “I suggest that you hold an exam in calligraphy and the like if you feel the need to discover the most qualified candidate.”

Tom held back an exasperated reply. Malfoy had good ideas, but she had no idea what skills a good teacher needed. And Tom was too protective of Hogwarts and everything he had tried to improve about it to simply dump someone who might harm children into it.

Nevertheless, he nodded. “An exam might be a good idea, Madam Malfoy. Thank you for the suggestion.” He glanced around the chamber. “How does the Wizengamot decide on a preliminary vote?”

*

Harry waited until they were in Tom’s bedroom to speak about the law concerning the Muggleborns’ parents, and then only because yelling in public would be counterproductive.

“You _enthusiastically_ supported that law, then,” he said, and he kept his voice low to force Tom to listen to him. “And you probably thought that it was a good thing to alienate Muggleborns from the wizarding world, didn’t you?”

“If I thought that, I wouldn’t have pushed for more accurate Muggle Studies classes at Hogwarts, or for Muggleborn children to be taught the kinds of skills that they need to fit in with the rest of us,” Tom said, hanging up his cloak. “Mind telling me where you came to _this _conclusion?”

Harry paced back and forth. He wished in that moment that he could speak Parseltongue, not just understand it. Those felt like the only words that would let him properly express the disgust spreading through him.

“When I said this afternoon that the law would alienate Muggleborns from the wizarding world by destroying their parents’ brains,” Harry said. “And I thought that that might be what the pure-bloods _want_ and why they supported that law. But you. You don’t care if Muggleborns are in the wizarding world or not, do you?”

Tom tilted his head. “I care about them having a good education, as I do all wizarding children. And I don’t want them to betray us if they choose to live full-time in the Muggle world after graduating. But those aren’t the answers you’re looking for, I suspect.”

“You—you don’t care about Muggleborns as a separate entity.” Harry sat down heavily on the chair next to the bed. The emotional bond between them was calm, shifting with Tom’s curiosity more than anything else. “You don’t hate them the way Dumbledore thinks, but you also don’t want to _protect _them. You voted for that law—why?”

“Because it was a concession that the pure-bloods were so greedy to get that they didn’t notice some of the laws that I was passing under their noses,” Tom said calmly. “Mostly related to classes at Hogwarts they otherwise would have fought me on.”

“You supported something unethical because—”

“It was politics. Yes.”

Harry turned his head away from his soulmate’s calm face, and the emotional bond. Clear. Crystalline. _Waiting_. “And your enthusiasm?”

“I had to persuade them that I felt exactly as they did about it, or they might have got suspicious.”

Harry swallowed heavily. “But you could have done that with less enthusiasm.”

“At the time, I wasn’t sure that I could. But now that you’ve come up with alternate solutions, I can throw my political weight behind those instead.”

Tom sounded perfectly placid. Harry turned in his chair to stare at him, hard. “You really _don’t care_, do you?”

“I care because it troubles you.” Tom came over to stand in front of him, considering him. “And I care because this way, it deprives Lestrange and Black of something they want. Did you notice that Lestrange never approached you after the session with a place or time for the duel?” Tom’s lips quivered.

“I noticed,” Harry said shortly. He had noticed, and hadn’t _cared. _“But I’m not more intelligent than you are. You could have thought of those solutions if you had wanted to, and proposed them instead. Why didn’t you?”

“I can tell you the truth, or I can tell you what you want to hear.”

“I want to hear the truth.”

“That, then.” Tom sat down in the chair facing him and leaned forwards. “I didn’t propose those solutions because I didn’t care enough about figuring them out. I don’t _care _about most people, Harry. I’ll go out of my way to help some of them some of the time, such as creating those new classes at Hogwarts. But I don’t love the mass of them the way you do.” He paused. “I don’t actually know if there _are _many people who care about other wizards and witches in general, as a mass. For example, the pure-bloods in the Wizengamot are mostly invested in protecting the interests of their families. Albus talks the game of the greater good, but he shows little compassion towards individuals who simply happen to be around his enemies. Certainly most of our people demonstrate no more desire to protect the lives of those on the opposite sides of various wars than Muggles do. Of everyone I know, Amelia Bones might come the closest, but she also values the innocent more than the guilty, and people she knows the best. I’ve seen her fight and kill criminals who endangered the lives of the Aurors.”

“Who do you care about?” Harry whispered.

“You.”

Harry closed his eyes. “Do you—does that mean that you only care about me or that you care about me in a way that you don’t care about anyone else?”

“Very good, Harry.” Harry opened his eyes to see Tom smiling at him. “The latter. I don’t actively wish harm on most others. I’ll be happy to support the solutions that you brought up today.”

“But you didn’t care enough about Muggleborns to support them in the first place.” Harry thought he might gag.

“No,” Tom said softly. “I didn’t.”

Harry thought he understood now. Tom wasn’t boiling and churning with the hatred that Dumbledore had assumed he was, the loathing towards Muggleborns and the longing to be a pure-blood, that the Order of the Phoenix believed in.

No, he didn’t feel hatred. He felt utter indifference.

Which was _worse. _

Harry blinked and swallowed and fixed his attention on Tom, who considered him with one eyebrow raised. “Yes?”

He must have felt what Harry was feeling down the bond, but he didn’t seem distressed or upset. Harry rubbed his forehead. “I have to go,” he said, standing abruptly. He couldn’t disentangle his magic entirely from Tom’s, and didn’t want to, but it pulled sharply at him as he separated it as much as possible. “I have to—I have to be around my parents and godfather right now.”

“Of course, Harry,” Tom said softly. “Whatever you need.”

Harry shot him one more incredulous glance—_now _he was acting reasonable?—and then stormed out of Tom’s house and towards the Apparition point. His heart was beating too fast, his head hazy and his temper on fire.

Why _had _Magic chosen to tie him to someone who had this kind of—of morality? Or _lack _of morality?

Harry knew that Tom would indeed support the new solutions to keep Muggles from talking about magic. Or something else that he might come up with that could be even less invasive. The thoughts that Harry had thrown out in the Wizengamot today had just been the first ones that had come to him. They might not be the best ones.

But Tom would do it because Harry wanted that from him. Not because it was the right thing to do. Not because he did believe that Muggleborns, or Muggles, were people who ought to be treated equally.

And Harry would have to decide how to live with that. Because he doubted Tom would change.

*

“_He seems a volatile sort._”

Tom chuckled and let one hand reach down to smooth along Nagini’s scales as she slithered into the drawing room. “_Well, I think I need that. I couldn’t be soulmated to someone as analytical and restrained as I am myself. It wouldn’t work._”

“_Nonsense. Mates should be similar to each other, or they will not produce strong hatchlings._”

Tom laughed softly. “_That is not a concern for him and me, Nagini._”

“_It could be._”

Tom shrugged and dismissed the notion, Nagini curling up on his feet so that she could better rest herself in front of the fire. Tom, in the meantime, stared into the flames and felt a smile curl up the corner of his mouth.

He didn’t enjoy causing Harry pain. But it was good that Harry understood the truth, and beyond good that he had impressed the Wizengamot, as Tom knew enough of the pure-bloods to realize that he had.

They still had plenty of compromises to make. And Harry would probably need to retreat and accept the company of people more like-minded to him than Tom was, which suited Tom. His soulmate should have _everything _he needed.

Tom would wait. With the immortality that he was absolutely certain he and Harry could achieve together, everything was within his reach, as well.

And the indifference to so many others that he knew Harry found disgusting…

Well. Sooner or later, Harry would come to see that he could steer and shape Tom’s actions into being more like those of a “good” person, a benevolent politician, precisely because Tom didn’t care about holding on to a certain set of principles. Tom could be what Harry required of him.

Not in everything. But in the most important ways.

Just as Harry, in the most important aspects, was what Tom would always require.


	17. Truths

“I just don’t know what to do with him.”

Lily leaned in and kissed her son’s forehead, over the old lightning-bolt scar that he had received falling off his broom. “I know. But I think that he’s probably thinking something similar.”

“He isn’t. He just sits there and feels _calm _when I’m telling him that I think he’s immoral.”

“He should be down on his knees thanking every god that ever existed for the fact that you were willing to give him a chance,” James said from the other side of the dining room table. Lily frowned at him, but James ignored her. “I don’t know why you decided to give him that chance, frankly, Harry.”

“And you wouldn’t have given Mum a chance if it turned out that she was a Dark witch?”

James paused. Lily nodded. That was one of the problems her husband was having, one that she understood herself, and could only avoid by constant reminders to herself that she had _left _the Order. They had been so used to thinking that Harry’s bond with Tom Riddle was somehow uniquely evil that they also kept forgetting it was a soulmate bond, and subject to the same kind of rules that governed others.

“I would have,” James said finally, reluctantly. “But if she was passing legislation against Muggleborns, I would have—”

“Do tell me,” Lily said. “I’m fascinated to hear it.” And she really was, given James’s assurances to her that he would have stayed by her side if she believed something that was repugnant to him.

James breathed out slowly. “I would have tried to change your mind.”

“Which you couldn’t have if you simply fled and left me behind.”

James sighed. “Fine. But that doesn’t tell Harry _how _he’s going to change the bastard’s mind when he doesn’t even seem dismayed by the fact that Harry’s upset.”

Harry had leaned back in his chair while they argued, and he spent a moment toying with the glass of butterbeer that Lily had given him the instant he came into the kitchen. He glanced around, as if looking for something, and then cleared his throat. “Is Sirius here?”

Lily nodded. Sirius might be the best one to talk to Harry, anyway. He hadn’t grown up knowing that his soulmate was someone he couldn’t have, but he did have a rejected soul-bond. “Yes, taking a nap. Do you want to talk to him?”

“Yeah. There are—there’s something I thought of that isn’t directly related to Tom’s horrible beliefs, and I want to talk to him about it.”

“I’m right here, kiddo.” Sirius stumbled out of the bedroom, his eyes drooping. He rubbed his face, and yawned loudly, and dropped into the chair across from Harry. “What do you want to know?”

Harry nibbled his lip and looked at Lily and James. Lily stood up and leaned over to kiss Harry’s forehead again.

“We’ll go work on that research I’m doing,” she said. And she was finding some fascinating, confusing things, especially in back issues of the _Daily Prophet, _about what people thought they knew about Dumbledore and Grindelwald. “Come on, James.”

James took a moment to squeeze Harry’s shoulder. “I do love you, son,” he murmured. “I never want you to think I don’t.”

Harry squeezed James’s hand back and gave him a wan smile. “I know, Dad. Love you.”

Sirius made a dramatic noise to himself, and Lily swatted him on the back of the head without looking. Sirius then did melodramatic cringing and whimpers, and Lily took James’s arm as they left the room, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Do you really think that he’s the best one to talk to Harry?” she whispered, unable to contain herself when it was just the two of them. Sirius had done something recently that had almost unwound Harry’s soulmate bond, after all.

“Did you notice that he woke immediately when Harry said he wanted to talk to him?”

“So? I assumed he was listening in and came in when he heard Harry said that.”

“I felt a spark of magic, Lily-Bell. I think that Riddle’s tied Sirius to Harry somehow, so he knows when Harry needs him.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. That was something she would have to speak with Harry about. Speaking with Riddle about it would probably do no good, and she was realistic enough to admit that. But Harry wouldn’t like a secret like that kept from him.

“Can you let it go for right now?” James sounded a little nervous.

Lily nodded. “But it only makes it more imperative that we support Harry when he wants to talk about things, and tell him the truth. Riddle shouldn’t be sneaking around behind his back and casting magic on people without their consent.”

James snorted. “Good luck getting him to change. He’s still a bastard, even if he’s not exactly the kind Albus told us about.”

“I know.” Lily pushed a chunk of her hair behind her ear and turned to the table spread with her research. The _Daily Prophet _hadn’t responded to her request for old editions, but the Wizarding Archive Library (established by Riddle twenty years ago) had been delighted to send her those old articles, as well as some history books written by witches and wizards outside Britain’s borders.

It made part of Lily burn to know that she couldn’t trust the history books written inside Britain. They would glorify Riddle, too, and wouldn’t say much that was honest about him. But the same was true of Albus.

It bothered Lily that one of them might be as bad as the other, but she had little proof of that yet on Albus’s side. More research was required.

*

Sirius considered Harry’s pale face, and wanted to sigh. He was sure that Harry was still less balanced and alert than he should be, and probably clutching at his emotional bond for reassurance more than normal, even though the only proof Sirius had of that was that normal people didn’t worry this much about disagreeing with their soulmate.

_That damn spell._

Well, it had been cast and then reversed, and Harry was still willing to trust Sirius close to him. Sirius didn’t see why he should brood on it _more _than the victim of it did. He leaned close. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Did you hear me tell Mum and Dad that Tom is indifferent to people and doesn’t hate them?”

“Yeah,” Sirius admitted. “It doesn’t surprise me. I grew up with a lot of people who were the same way.”

“I thought your mum _hated _Muggleborns.”

Sirius snorted. “I’m not talking about her. My dad, for instance. He just didn’t care about many things. He could have taken or left Muggleborns. But it was convenient to go along with Mum’s hatred so that he had peace in his own house. That was what he told me when I asked about it,” Sirius added, because Harry’s eyes were wide.

“I’m sorry, Sirius.”

Sirius shrugged. He didn’t see what good sympathy would do now, so long after the fact. “It’s all right, kid. So you’re saying that your…Tom is going along with the pure-blood hatred because it benefits him.”

“Right. And he said that he lets them pass horrible legislation because then the pure-bloods don’t push back on the more important legislation he wants to pass.”

“Sounds like almost every politician I’ve ever heard of.”

Sirius had made the admission reluctantly, but Harry still stared at him incredulously. “It’s _horrible_, Sirius! The _point _is that he shouldn’t think legislation that’s going to hurt Muggleborns’ parents is less important than whatever else he wants to pass!”

“I agree,” Sirius said, holding up his hands. “But I’m just telling you that I think that’s the way a lot of politicians play the game. They compromise and get their hands dirty in pursuit of goals they think are more important.”

“Tom is going to have to readjust his perception of what’s _important._”

Sirius had to smile at the bright flash of Harry’s eyes. “Right on. Now, was that what you wanted to talk to me specifically about?”

Harry calmed down in seconds, but maybe “calmed down” wasn’t really the right word, Sirius saw, concerned. He linked his hands together and stared at them as if they suddenly held all the secrets of the universe. Sirius tried to remain quiet and let any thoughts Harry was having rise to the surface.

“I never really understood much about the structure of the Wizengamot,” Harry began slowly. “I—well, my parents and Dumbledore thought that my studying it might be dangerous. It could have brought me to Riddle’s attention if I seemed to be interested in government. And it wasn’t like they thought I would have to know it for a career.”

Sirius simply nodded, although part of him stewed at the idea that studying _history _could be dangerous. It was starting to sound like Lily and James, as much as he cared for them, hadn’t thought through their plans any more than Albus had. If studying history was that dangerous, why let Harry work in the Ministry at all?

“Tom told me today that about half the members are Ministry employees and half the rest are pure-bloods who appoint each other. Is that true?”

Sirius shrugged. “More or less. There are certain rules and restrictions, like it’s a lot easier for the Ministry employees to be removed for misconduct, and someone who’s a half-blood or Muggleborn but close with a prominent pure-blood can get chosen. And technically the person is supposed to be above fifty years old if they’re appointed from within the Ministry. The Wizengamot is supposedly a good idea because it’s the wisdom of our elders leading us, after all. But there’s lots of people who ignore that rule, especially when we’ve had some young Ministers. Can’t elect them and then keep them out of the organization that’s supposed to help them run the country, after all.”

“Right.” Harry was looking ill. He took a deep breath and finally blurted out what must have been the thing he was really worrying about. “Doesn’t that mean that if Dumbledore’s plan to assassinate Tom worked, he would have killed the only _democratically_ elected member of the Wizengamot?”

Sirius paused, startled. He’d never thought about it that way before. A second later, though, he found the loophole in Harry’s argument. “That’s not really true, though. They would hold an election for a new Minister.”

“How soon?”

“What?”

“How soon would the next election be? Tom said that if he died, someone else from the Wizengamot would take over as interim Minister, and probably a pure-blood who’s been there a long time. How soon would the next election take place? Could they hold it off for years?” Harry was leaning so far forwards that he was almost falling off his chair.

“Of course not,” Sirius said, levels of detail he’d had to learn in his childhood coming to his rescue. “Someone else would be in charge of the Wizengamot, but only until the next...scheduled election...”

He hesitated. Harry was nodding. “So that means that if Tom was assassinated right now, when he was reelected last year, it’d be another four years until a new Minister was elected, right? Sirius, that’s _awful. _Think of what someone like Lestrange could do if they were in charge of the Wizengamot for four years.”

“Anyone has to be better than Riddle!”

“Including the man who decided to call me a Mudblood to my face and who I think might be involved in _actively _trying to alienate Muggleborns from our world? Really?”

“They can both be pretty horrendous,” Sirius defended, but Harry just stared at him with flat eyes, and Sirius gave in with a sigh. “Yeah, well, Lestrange sounds like he might be worse. This would be Laurentius Lestrange?”

“I think so. Didn’t hear anyone call him by his first name.” Harry sighed and leaned back so that he could stare up at the ceiling. “And the thing is, Tom isn’t _innocent. _But—I need you to tell me what Dumbledore’s plans were. He’d assassinate Tom. But what would come after that? Would he try to influence the Wizengamot to pass better laws? Does he have influence over someone in there that I never knew about?”

Sirius slowly shook his head. “Most of them wouldn’t attack Albus, but they’re pretty resistant to helping him. Bunch of snakes.”

Harry just shrugged. “So what would happen after he assassinated Tom? The country gets worse?”

“If Riddle was dead, there wouldn’t be a war!”

“Wake up, Sirius!” Harry leaned forwards and waved his hands. “There’s no war _now_! There’s hideous laws and Tom acting in a way he needs to seriously change, but the Order is the only group that thinks there’s a war! It makes them come across like lunatics!”

Sirius stared at Harry. “That’s—that’s not true. The reason that people don’t fight beside us is because they don’t understand what Riddle _is—”_

Harry made a frustrated noise and buried his head in his hands. “That’s not true, Sirius,” he said tiredly. “If all Dumbledore cared about was just getting allies against Tom, he could have reached out to some of the pure-bloods in the Wizengamot who hate him so much. They would probably have been willing to work with Dumbledore as long as they thought Tom wouldn’t find out. But Dumbledore never did, did he?”

“They wouldn’t have helped us,” Sirius said, but his scalp was starting to prickle.

“Why not?”

“I mean—they wouldn’t have cared that Riddle was getting ready to slaughter a bunch of Muggles and Muggleborns. They just wouldn’t.”

“Maybe not, but they could still have cooperated with the Order to boot Tom out of power. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?” Harry bowed his head. “But Dumbledore never worked with them, and he never seems to have thought about what would happen once Tom was dead and someone like Arcturus Black or Lestrange was in control of the Wizengamot. Sorry,” he added, “I know Arcturus has to be your relative, but I didn’t like the way he acted today.”

“Can’t stand the old idiot myself,” Sirius said, and made Harry smile tiredly. “But you’re acting as though Albus couldn’t have planned past this. I think he probably had some plan neither of us knows.”

“Like what? And why would he keep it from you?”

“I mean—he has to know that I’m impulsive, that I make mistakes, like the way I cast that spell on you.”

Sirius trailed off. Harry sighed. “If he’d thought that was a bad idea, he would have told you so. What do you _really _think, Sirius?”

It wasn’t a complete surprise when Sirius felt a firm pull around his neck as though he was wearing some sort of wire collar with a leash on it—a spell his parents had also used on him when he was a child to prevent him from lying. Not a complete surprise, but still one Sirius wanted to kill Riddle for.

He gritted his teeth and said, “He’s got me under a spell to tell you the truth.”

Harry bowed his head. Then he asked, “Do you want to stop talking, then?”

Sirius shook his head, still gritting his teeth. Riddle had told him that he would be speaking the truth to Harry if he stayed. Sirius simply hadn’t expected the git to be so literal about it. “No,” he managed to say, and then the truth tumbled out. “I think Albus got obsessed and thought removing Riddle would solve all the problems. I think he isn’t thinking beyond that at this point.”

Harry nodded slowly. “And that would make sense out of the way he decided to take risks that could end up costing a bunch of innocent people their lives, too. He just _had _to get rid of Tom, and he started calling them war casualties when even _he _had to know that would sound horrible. He’s blinded by his obsession.”

Sirius breathed out. “Yeah, I think so.” To his relief, the spell didn’t sting him for saying that. Sirius slumped back and stared at the ceiling. “Something bothers me, though.”

“What?”

“Albus was obsessed with keeping Riddle away from you and killing Riddle. Why didn’t he do something as drastic as the assassination attempt a long time ago? For that matter—forgive me, Harry—why didn’t he kill you when you were born with Riddle’s mark?”

“He didn’t want to alienate my mum and dad, maybe?”

“Albus would always put the greater good over losing a few followers,” Sirius said listlessly. So not even Harry thought it was because Albus had cared for him. Well. “No, there’s something else going on here. I don’t know what it is, though.”

Harry gave him a tentative smile. “Well, Mum is doing research on it. You know that no one can dig as deep as she can. I hope she’ll find something out and maybe we can convince Dumbledore to leave us in peace.”

Sirius smiled and made lighthearted jokes. To his relief, the truth spell didn’t affect him unless someone asked him a direct question. He could keep concealed his conviction that someone as obsessed as Albus was with this particular goal wasn’t going to leave anyone in peace.

*

“But I don’t understand why Sirius doesn’t come _back._”

Molly had made a promise to herself that if she heard her future daughter-in-law say that one more time, she was going to speak up. And now Hermione was sitting on the other side of the small house Molly and Arthur had built in memory of the Burrow in their refuge world, and Ron was on a mission, and Arthur had gone off to tinker with some Muggle artifacts he’d rescued the last time he was in England, and it was just the two of them.

It didn’t mean things were perfect. But Molly had long since accepted that they didn’t live in a perfect world.

“If you truly don’t understand that, my girl, you’re not the intellectual I thought you were.”

Hermione blinked at her with wide eyes. Molly smiled, and didn’t care if it looked a little mean. She adored Hermione, and not just because the girl was Ron’s soulmate. She’d been his good friend before then, and a good friend to the twins and Ginny. But she did have a tendency to disregard anyone who wasn’t like her, and that had unfortunately included a tendency to say careless things about Molly because she stayed home and took care of her children.

“What do you mean by that, though? It doesn’t make tactical sense for Sirius to stay. He failed to cast the spell on Harry, or it failed when he did, and he admitted in his letter that he doesn’t think he can persuade Harry to leave Riddle. So why doesn’t he come back?”

“He also said in his letter that Riddle had him under a vow and probably several spells to ensure he stayed as a kind of court jester.” That wasn’t what Sirius’s actual letter had said in so many words, of course, but Molly was enough of a mother to read between the lines, the way she’d had to do with so many of the twins’ letters home from Hogwarts. “So why would you be puzzled that he stayed?”

“I would have run away if it was me. I wouldn’t let a silly vow stop me.”

“A vow can actually bind your magic,” Molly said, as gently as possible. “It can force you to remain where you were.”

“Then I wouldn’t make the vow.”

“If the alternative to that was Riddle killing him, I can see why Sirius made it.”

Hermione frowned slowly. “So—you don’t actually think our cause is worth dying for?”

Molly sighed and put down the pan she had been casting cleaning charms on. It was still good enough if it was just cleaned from Arthur’s last attempt to make scrambled eggs in it, and she didn’t like the thought of taking another one from Muggles who might have less than they did.

“Hermione, you’re young,” she said, and ignored the speechless outrage that filled Hermione’s eyes. “You might think that you can do anything, resist anything, die for anything because you haven’t been put to the test. But Sirius has come near dying any number of times. Do you really think the problem is that he’s a _coward_? Or me?”

“No,” Hermione said, sounding sheepish. “But Ron and I were willing to die when we went into the Department of Mysteries! I just think Sirius should have been, too.”

Molly shook her head. Neither Ron nor Albus had told her about that mission in advance, probably to avoid the words they knew would be hurled at their heads. It just ensured they got them afterwards. “So he would have died as he was trying to come back to us. And for what? He wouldn’t have made it back. What point would that prove? A _silly_ heroic death?”

“If he’d stood firm enough, Riddle wouldn’t have tried to bind him with the vow, and he could have come back.”

Molly lifted her eyebrows. “I didn’t realize you understood _that _little about the way Tom Riddle works.”

“What?” Hermione folded her arms. “I know what he believes. I know the way he thinks. I’ve spent years studying the way he votes in the Wizengamot and the laws that people think someone else started but really have his authorship all over them! I _know _him!”

“And you think he would bluff?” Molly asked softly. “Or let his bluff be called?”

Hermione blinked. “You think he would have killed Sirius.”

“Exactly.”

“But that would have made Harry unhappy.”

Molly waited a moment for Hermione to realize the contradiction at the heart of what she’d said, but Hermione only continued to wait in turn, so she said, “Riddle is a heartless monster. I think most of us here would agree. So why would he let Harry’s happiness or unhappiness stop him?”

Hermione hesitated a long time. Then she said, “Well, he would want to keep Harry’s good opinion so he could make Harry fall in love with him and double his power…”

“Enough to let someone who was threatening to run back to the Order of the Phoenix simply do it, without binding him with a vow?”

Hermione reluctantly shook her head. “No. Riddle would probably think that he could eventually overcome Harry’s pain at that and manipulate him into falling in love with him anyway.”

Molly gave her a sad smile. “Exactly. I think all of us are going to have to change our tactics if we actually want to survive and achieve what we’ve been fighting for. The ones we’ve used haven’t worked so far.”

“Ron and I destroyed important research in the Department of Mysteries!”

“Did Riddle change his behavior publicly because of that at all?”

Hermione hesitated a moment too long. Molly reached out and squeezed her hand.

“I think this is a war in a way,” Molly said. Poor Hermione looked as if she had been standing on an ice floe that was melting out from under her suddenly. “Maybe not the kind that Albus thought it was, but we can’t let Riddle pass whatever laws he wants and discriminate against Muggleborns. The problem is that committing random crimes and raids and getting ourselves exiled hasn’t changed anything. We have to do something else.”

“We can’t compromise with him!”

“Not about something like the lives and safety of Muggleborns,” Molly said, and Hermione settled back again, perhaps because she had heard the conviction in her voice. “But we can oppose him politically instead of with guerilla tactics.”

“Opposing him politically won’t do anything.”

“Why not?”

“Professor Dumbledore has done it all along, and nothing has changed.”

“He’s made his principles known,” Molly agreed. “But he hasn’t tried to get himself appointed to the Wizengamot, even though at one point several of his allies offered him the position of Chief Warlock. He hasn’t tried to put up another candidate for Minister, or even offered that much support to the people who were willing to run against Riddle. Just trying to kill Riddle or destroy his support base isn’t going to work.”

Hermione chewed her lip hard. “If Professor Dumbledore didn’t do that, there must be a _reason _he didn’t. Something important that we don’t know about.”

“Why don’t you ask him about it, dear?” Molly suggested. “I’ve tried, but he hasn’t answered me when I asked the question.”

“I _will_. He _listens _to me.”

Molly nodded. It was possible that Albus would listen to Hermione. He valued her and Ron second in the Order only next to Harry, Molly had once thought.

As she watched Hermione march firmly in the direction of Albus’s tent, Molly wondered whether that impression was still true—and whether Albus had valued most the youngsters he could manipulate.

*

“I have to talk to you.”

Tom nodded and moved aside so that Harry could fall into step beside him in Diagon Alley. The Aurors who had been following him shifted without grumbling to extend their protection over Harry as well. Tom smiled. They _could _learn.

“As you will, Harry,” Tom said. “What do you want to begin with?”

Harry tilted his chin up to hold Tom’s gaze. Tom took the chance to watch the way that the brilliant emerald shade of his eyes shifted and darkened. _Merlin, _he loved the way Harry looked when his eyes were alive.

Even if what they were currently alive with was angry determination.

“Did you ever think about the fact that your future soulmate might be Muggleborn and that your laws could affect them in a devastating way?” Harry asked.

Tom paused. “That’s an intriguing question.”

“I’m wise to that trick of avoiding an answer. An _answer, _Riddle.” Harry came as close as he probably could to hissing Parseltongue words.

“I only meant what I said,” Tom continued mildly, and stepped around a yellow stain in the middle of the cobbles that could have been a spilled potion. He wasn’t about to take the chance. “It’s an intriguing question because I never pictured my soulmate as someone who would care about that.”

Harry _thrummed_ with indignation, actually looking as if it might lift him off his toes. “Riddle—”

Tom stopped dead and stared at him. Harry paused, then seemed to realize what he’d done wrong, and grimaced. “Tom,” he continued, while the emotional bond flowered around them with feelings as dark as bruises. “Now you know you have one.”

“Yes, but I thought anyone who was my soulmate would either be almost exactly like me, or holding back because they were wary of my power,” Tom said, with a shrug. “I didn’t picture anyone who had been raised to ethically oppose me.”

Harry snorted. “Now you know. What are you going to do about it?”

“What do you want me to do about it?” Tom smiled a little as he saw a flash of too-bright blonde hair from the fascinated crowd that was gathering around them. Trust Skeeter to be nearby, he thought. Tom had come to Diagon Alley to visit one of the small schools that were opening to serve half-blood children who had been rejected by their Muggle parent, forcing the witch or wizard in the marriage to file for divorce. It was good public relations to come to the rescue of toiling single parents, and Tom had carefully spread around word of exactly where he would be.

But arguing with Harry was more fascinating than a school visit any day, and could also be spun in any number of directions provided that Tom was careful in how he handled it.

“I want you to make up your own mind,” Harry growled. His magic flexed around him, a swaying serpent. Tom raised his own to match it, and heard more than one nervous gasp.

That was all right. He provoked some fear simply by virtue of his office and his immense magical strength. If their combined power meant that some people would hesitate to attack Harry, Tom was all for it.

“But you know that if I do, I will simply continue my course,” Tom said in the same mild voice. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m doing what’s best to protect our world.”

“Erasing human minds is not _ethical_.”

“The Minister erased someone’s mind?” called an alarmed voice from the crowd.

Harry turned in its direction, so engrossed in the question that he didn’t seem to notice the camera flashes that were exploding around them. “He voted for the law that will erase the minds of Muggle parents if they have a magical child and happen to talk about magic to someone who doesn’t already know.”

“Oh, _Muggles_,” said the same voice.

Harry’s eyes widened, and he stared into the crowd as if he couldn’t believe that someone would care so little about fellow human beings. And Tom had no doubt that Harry did see Muggles as fellow human beings, one of the few wizards Tom had ever met who did.

That only made Tom want to guard him and cherish him more.

Before Harry could say the words that were clearly brewing on his tongue, a flicker of green magic streaked towards him from the far corner of the crowd. Tom was moving even before he realized that the color was more a deep jade than the sickly green of the Killing Curse, but it turned out he didn’t need to.

Harry drew instinctively on their joined magic and lifted a shimmering, multi-layered shield of blue and white, one that reared above Diagon Alley like a curving wave. The curse slammed into it and ate through one of the layers, but dissolved before it could touch the others.

“Who was that?” Tom said in an undertone to the nearest Auror. She saluted and turned away to bark orders at the others, sending them into motion.

“No need, Mr. Riddle,” drawled the familiar voice. “I am merely coming to make sure that Mr. Potter realizes our duel was delayed, not cancelled.” And Laurentius Lestrange sauntered through a rapidly-widening corridor to stand in front of them. He wore dark dragonhide robes and an arrogant smile.

But Tom had known the man for decades, and he could easily make out the slightly too-wide eyes and the bobbing motion in his throat. Lestrange hadn’t expected Harry to resist the curse so handily, or at all.

“An interesting way to begin a duel, Mr. Lestrange,” Harry said. “Throwing a curse that could have destroyed your opponent or even someone innocent in the way without fanfare or a formal challenge? Tsk, tsk, _tsk._”

His voice snapped out on the last word, suddenly a roar that no one in the Alley would have trouble hearing, and the wave-like shield crashed into massive shards of magic raining down around Harry. In seconds he was dressed in glittering weaves of blue light that Tom knew would rival Lestrange’s dragonhide robes as a protective measure, and his wand was in his hand. Harry stepped forwards, his power expanding and unfolding around him, constantly growing long past the point where most wizards would be exhausted.

_Look at him, _Tom thought, not moving to defend his soulmate. He was perfectly safe, and had to show what he could do, or the challenges to duels would only keep on coming.

“Well?” Harry asked, lifting his wand. “Aren’t you going to attack me now, Lestrange? Or isn’t even footing to your liking?’

“Are you challenging my honor?”

“No, I’m saying that you don’t have any.”

Tom winced in silence to himself, but Lestrange was already screaming and charging like a maddened dragon. Harry spun on one heel as yet another streak of green magic tumbled towards him, and spat a single word that Tom couldn’t make out through Lestrange’s screaming and the rush of blood in his own ears.

The ground beneath Lestrange cracked open, and Tom stared. Was Harry going to make him simply fall into a pit? That seemed a mild revenge for the kind of insult he had presented—

But then black hands reached up from beneath the cobbles, shining with lava at the edges, and locked around Lestrange’s ankles. He screamed in pain, and Tom saw the flesh of his feet begin to bubble a second before the smell of roasting flesh reached his nostrils. Lestrange crumpled and tried to turn his wand on the hands holding him, but one of them snatched it and flicked it contemptuously away. Tom saw the end of the wooden handle burning. He felt a twitch of a smile cross his face at the same time. If Lestrange ever got any use out of that wand again, it would be a miracle.

“Please, please, stop!” Lestrange stretched out his hands towards Harry, who was walking towards him clad in light. “I surrender, just—let me live!”

Harry stopped in front of him and stared down. “I wonder why I should,” he whispered. “You didn’t care about killing me outside the confines of the formal duel, or killing anyone else. Why should I?”

Lestrange sobbed, but didn’t answer. He probably knew it wouldn’t do any good. Harry sighed, and different expressions chased themselves over his face for a second before he lifted one hand in front of him.

“I couldn’t sleep tonight if I killed you,” he said, and folded his fingers inwards to his palm.

_I wouldn’t have a problem, _Tom admitted to himself, but he forced his muscles still and only watched as Harry lifted Lestrange out of the crack, sent the hands back into the small ravine he had opened, and then closed the gap in the cobbles again. He didn’t bother healing the burns on Lestrange’s ankles, Tom was relieved to see. Lestrange was exactly the sort who would take that as an admission of weakness and a reason to renew the challenge sometime in the future.

Although…

Tom looked at the way Lestrange was shuddering, curled in on himself, and had to admit that Harry might have been successful in finally teaching the arrogant bastard otherwise.

“Mr. Potter!”

The cameras flashed and clicked, and Harry looked up just in time to look at Skeeter forcing her way through the crowd. Tom saw his shoulders hunch, while the emotional bond grew so taut that it would have hurt for either of them to move apart from each other. It was obvious that Harry’d like to use their conjoined magic to simply vanish.

But he faced Skeeter and prepared to answer her questions with a grim little smile. He knew as well as Tom did, said that smile, that he was past the point of being able to retreat.

Tom stepped forwards and rested his hands on Harry’s shoulders, and Harry flashed him a startled glance before he nodded and relaxed.

They were together, Tom thought as he gently wrapped their magic back around both of them and soothed the tension thrumming through Harry. No reason they had to suffer alone.

And he was the luckiest man in the wizarding world.

The next day, the newspapers bore on the front page a picture of Harry facing the photographer with his eyes still brilliant with power, and Tom behind him, his eyes bright with adoration.


	18. Intimacies

Harry shut his eyes as he heard Tom enter the flat after him. At least he knew that Sirius and his parents had both planned to be elsewhere; Sirius was at the Ministry answering all sorts of questions about his legal status, and James had gone with him to support him. Lily was at the Archive, doing some more research.

“Tom, I don’t really want to talk right now,” he whispered. “Or have an ethical argument, or something like that.” He didn’t even want to continue the conversation they’d been having in Diagon Alley when Lestrange had interrupted. The duel using both their magic had drained and shaken Harry in a way he hadn’t expected.

It was as if it had deepened the emotional bond, or the magic had leaked into the bond and heightened it. Tom’s admiration and lust had filled Harry to the point where he knew it would be easy to mistake for love if he had let himself. And while so much else the Order had told Harry about Tom had been lies, he didn’t yet have proof that he could love.

“I wasn’t going to talk, Harry, except to ask your permission.”

Harry turned with a frown. “Permission for—”

Tom leaned in and kissed him firmly. Harry gasped and kept on gasping, as Tom’s tongue slipped into his mouth and he got the most _thorough _kiss of his life. Harry was dimly aware that Tom had him pushed up against the doorframe into the drawing room and that his hands were sunk into Harry’s hair, but only dimly.

The kiss was so good that Harry’s head filled with light and his heart pounded madly. He had no idea where his hands were. He kissed back, and let the heat fill him and his erection swell.

Tom reached down and touched him, gently. His fingers smoothed back and forth, and he slowly pulled away from the kiss to murmur, “Will you let me?”

Harry paused, but the emotional bond and the magic surged around him and told him that Tom was telling the truth. His admiration was burning as bright as a bonfire, and the lust was there but restrained.

Harry’s wasn’t.

Harry groaned shakily and opened his legs. “Tom, I’ve never—I can’t promise I’ll be good at—”

“_I know, darling, and I’m beyond pleased that you waited for me,_” Tom hissed in Parseltongue. Harry shuddered as the words dug into him and seemed to drag more heat to the surface of his skin. Tom smiled at him and added, “_You like that? I’ll talk to you in Parseltongue as long as I can, then._”

“What do you mean? What are you going to do—”

Never removing his eyes from Harry’s face, one hand remaining on his cock, Tom sank to his knees.

Harry’s breathing picked up, and he reached out and gripped Tom’s hair before he thought about it. Tom tilted his head without moving it from his grasp and murmured, “_I’m also delighted that you can be possessive, too._”

A strange, feral mood was overcoming Harry, pouring through the emotional bond like a heavy waterfall. He dragged Tom forwards, and Tom laughed and gently mouthed his cock through the cloth of his trousers before saying, “_It’ll be easier for both of us if you take your clothes off._”

Harry swallowed and nodded, sweeping a hand down his body. His trousers folded back as if slit, and his pants did the same thing, and Tom’s eyes dilated at the same moment as the emotional bond _leaped _around them.

“_Mine forever,_” Tom said, and then locked his mouth furiously around Harry’s erection. Harry cried out without meaning to, thrusting forwards. Tom rode it without choking.

For a moment, the knowledge of the reason why cut through Harry’s haze. _Tom _hadn’t waited for him. He’d been with others. He’d practiced on them to get as good at this as he was right now—

Tom’s magic tightened around him in a whole-body caress, and Tom licked up and down his shaft without letting go. Harry relaxed except for the tightened muscles in his groin and legs, understanding the message. The others _had _only been practice. Tom had done it to make this good for him.

And because Harry understood that, he let go of some of his hard-won control.

He grabbed Tom’s temples and tugged him closer. Tom’s mouth widened in what Harry knew had to be a smug smile around him, and then he began to suck in so much earnest that Harry rose up on his toes.

_Yes. Yes. This is what I want._

Frustration and longing pulsed through him, and Harry began to thrust, shutting his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to see Tom’s dark ones looking up at him. Right now, he couldn’t take that. He gasped and gripped hair and felt smooth skin slip under his fingers. Tom’s hands shifted, and he nearly lost control of himself.

Tom didn’t say anything, but then, he hardly could with his tongue and lips so busy. Instead, his fingers slipped gently through the cloth that still clung to Harry’s hips, and up to his bollocks, tugging on them. Harry growled his approval, widening his stance, and hissed when Tom’s fingers gently brushed against his arse.

He’d _wanted _this. He’d stared at other blokes in school and resented the fact that he would never have this.

It burst in his head like a star, the sudden realization that he _could _have this. He could have all the sex with his soulmate that he wanted. His soulmate wanted to give him this, proclaimed their tensely singing bond. Harry could thrust as hard as he wanted and come as often as he wanted, and it would only make Tom like it all the better.

Harry bent forwards, letting Tom have more access to his arse but forcing him to move so that he could keep Harry’s cock in his mouth, and breathed out, “I want you to make me come as hard as you can, and I want to do it in your mouth.”

*

Tom wanted Harry like physical pain.

But he held off, because that was also what he wanted to do, and Harry—Harry was putting his own pleasure first, _finally._

Tom bobbed his head to show he understood and then gave a single long, violent suck that he’d learned from a Muggleborn wizard who’d been talented at little else. Harry shouted once, and then settled into a steady, shallow pushing. Tom would have protested, but the lazy look on Harry’s face said that this was what _he_ wanted to do right now.

Tom had never seen him like this, and the sight pulled him, making his magic spiral out of his body. Harry’s eyes were slightly glazed, but utterly focused on him. His lips were parted, the air rasping in and out of them, and he closed his hands in Tom’s hair as if he had forgotten it might be attached to his head.

His desire soared through their bond and made its own spiraling dance, and Tom threw himself into that and let himself be utterly consumed.

Everything was for Harry right now. Tom’s mouth—for his pleasure. Tom’s probing fingers—to slide gently along the crease of his arse and show him the thin, thin line between a flickering flame of touch and sensation intense enough to hurt. Tom’s hair—for his grip. And Harry was warm and thick in his mouth, thickening steadily as Tom blew him, and it was everything he wanted right now.

Harry came without warning, but Tom took enough of one from the way he abruptly stopped thrusting and all his muscles tensed. He swallowed, while Harry’s hands curled down hard enough to resemble iron bracelets. Tom swallowed one more time and slid back, catching Harry as he slid downwards in turn. Harry was breathing fast enough that Tom would have been concerned without the bond to tell him that Harry was more _content _than he’d ever been in his life.

“Welcome back, love,” Tom murmured when Harry’s eyes finally fluttered open with something other than bliss in them.

Harry gave him a satisfied, languid smile that would have started wars for his hand if he’d been born without a soul-mark. Tom knew pure-bloods who would consider it even knowing who he was bound to. But _he _had caused that smile, and no one else could, and this was the first time Harry had looked like that.

He licked his lips, and Harry flushed an abrupt, brilliant rose. The bond grew hesitant. “Do you—do you want me to do that to you?” Harry said in a voice husky enough to make it sound like he’d already sucked Tom off. “I know that I’m not going to be as good at it as you are.”

“I know that, and I wouldn’t expect you to be good at it,” Tom murmured, taking Harry’s hand and moving it gently downwards. “The reason why you aren’t is more than acceptable.” Harry flushed a harder red, and the bond sang a high startled note. “For now, what you did in the past for me is what I want.”

Harry’s hand began to move, and Tom tilted back his head and bucked into the pleasure, intertwining himself even more with the emotional bond and the magic than with the physical sensations. When he came, it was like a wall falling on his head. He shuddered and turned to bury his face in Harry’s shoulder, something he had never done.

They fell asleep on the floor, and there was no part of Tom that wasn’t happy.

*

“You got into a duel with Lestrange in the middle of Diagon Alley?”

“It wasn’t _my _idea.”

Lily sighed as she examined her son and his mulish expression, somewhat marred by the red flush to his cheeks. Yes, she knew that. Of course Harry wouldn’t have thought it was a good idea to duel with innocents around, or without a formal ring and all the rest. James had been careful to teach him the rules of dueling, as separate from battle; duels were primarily a pure-blood institution, and Harry was risking less respect from others because of his blood status if he portrayed anything at all except perfection there.

But she still reached across the dining room table and clenched his hand tight. “Can you promise me that you won’t do it again?”

“Can you promise that some hot-headed idiot isn’t going to attack me in Diagon Alley again under the pretense of a duel?”

Lily sighed and sat back. No, she couldn’t. But she did have something to say, something that hadn’t occurred to her before. “Are you sure that you want the part of being the Minister’s soulmate in such a public way? No one would have bothered you like this before when you were posing as a minor Ministry flunky.”

Harry paused, a frown darting across his face. Lily held her breath. There was a depth of thought in his eyes that promised he wasn’t going to just respond with a banal reassurance, and an expression in them that she had never seen before.

“When I was _posing_,” Harry repeated softly. “That’s the trouble, Mum. I know why you were trying to keep me safe, I know why you did it and chose the methods you used, but it was always a lie. It meant I even had to keep secrets from you and Dad and Professor Dumbledore.” His voice roughened for a moment on that last name, but he kept right on. “I don’t want to lie anymore. I _can’t _lie anymore. I announced the truth about me to too many people with my actions and in those articles, and so did Tom. And what are we going to do? _Obliviate _anyone who saw me duel Lestrange yesterday? We can’t.”

Lily tapped her fingers on the table. “You’re saying that people are going to court you for being a powerful wizard even if you distance yourself from Riddle and decide that you don’t want to accept your place as his soulmate.”

“Something I will not allow.”

Lily jumped. She had come to think of the flat Riddle had given Harry as “their” place, since she and James had a bedroom and Riddle maintained his own house, and had forgotten he could bypass the wards. But she turned around determined to meet Riddle’s eyes and justify herself if she had to.

He gave her a polite little smile that was more chilling than a shout, and came over to put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. Lily didn’t think it was her imagination that a small patch of air near his shoulder had darkened and formed a red-eyed serpent that was watching her.

“Tom, don’t threaten my parents,” Harry said, without even turning to face his soulmate. But Lily knew it wasn’t her imagination that Harry had leaned back towards him and that some of the tension had dissipated from his body with the rush of his breath.

“I’m not threatening them, darling,” Riddle said. “I’m only telling them the truth.”

Harry grunted and turned his head a little. “What did you mean, exactly? You’re not going to allow me to distance myself from you or you’re not going to allow people to court me? And don’t I get a choice in this?”

“Of course.” Riddle bent over to kiss the nape of Harry’s neck, but his eyes never left Lily’s. “If you want to make a choice that leads to the streets running with blood, you’re of course free to.”

Lily swallowed. She wondered if Harry heard the tone as lightly teasing, as soft as any ordinary person’s. Lily didn’t. She couldn’t, not gazing into those red-tinged eyes and seeing Riddle’s hands flex as if he was about to grab hold of Harry’s shoulders and carry him off like a dragon.

“I don’t want to,” Harry said quietly. “But if we do find out that we’re incompatible, Tom, I want you to let me go.” He turned around in the chair while Riddle was still opening his mouth to reply. “For your own sake. You deserve to find a partner who truly complements you, instead of someone who can only be a hindrance.”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that that’s what you believe you’re going to turn out to be.”

Lily had to turn her head away, her face burning, as Harry arched his neck back and met Riddle’s gaze. She couldn’t feel their emotional bond or their magic except as a distant swirling on the edge of her senses, but what she could feel was almost unbearably intimate.

“No,” Harry said finally. “I wouldn’t turn out to be that.”

“We may disagree on many things,” Riddle said, his voice now having no tone Lily had ever heard in it before. “We may need to talk and argue them through. But that’s not the same as leaving or threatening to leave. I need you to know that, Harry.”

Harry reached out and touched something that Lily couldn’t see because she was still looking aside. Maybe the side of Riddle’s neck, maybe his hand. “I know. I’m sorry. I think I have…exaggerated ideas of how easy and right it would be for someone to leave me.”

“I know. And I know exactly who to blame for it.”

“Stop looking at Mum like that.”

Lily turned back to face Riddle’s eyes and the silent, deadly stare. She couldn’t deny her fear, but neither was she a coward who would run from it or leave her only child unprotected in the face of it. “Are you going to attack me, Minister Riddle? Most of the time, I would consider such a look a threat.”

Riddle blinked, then laughed, rapidly and silently. “I enjoy your spirit, Mrs. Potter. Can I speak to you in private?”

“You’re _not _going to kill my mother.”

“Of course not, darling,” Riddle said, and although Lily strained her hearing to search his voice for the sound of a lie, she heard nothing but soft, sincere affection. “There’s simply one aspect of the situation that we’re both aware of, but she’s not. I want to explain it to her.”

Lily nodded before Harry could say anything. “Yes, I want to hear it.”

“As long as it’s not anything about our…”

Riddle laughed. “Of course not.” And he traced his fingers for a second over Harry’s cheekbone. Lily blinked. It reminded her of something, but she wasn’t sure what.

Then she knew. It reminded her of the half-silent, half-verbal conversations she could have with James, the ones that were only possible because they knew each other so well that they could anticipate what the other one was going to say.

Lily felt her cheeks flush as she stood. She didn’t want to think too closely about how Minister Riddle and _her son _could have formed that part of their connection.

But she walked into the drawing room, and turned around as Riddle shut the door behind them. She did have to stiffen both her shoulders and her legs when he turned to face her, and she saw the wild flare in his eyes.

“Do you know _why _Harry is so convinced that I would simply leave him? That he is a burden, a hindrance?”

Riddle stood absolutely still, but it didn’t matter. Lily could feel that same wildness in him, the kind a tiger would have expressed by pacing around its cage. She knew he was ten times more dangerous than that tiger. “Yes,” she replied. “Because we told him that his soul-mark was a shameful thing and he would never be able to be with his soulmate. I know that. I’m sorry for it. I’m working every day to make it up to him.”

“Not only that.” Riddle gave her a smile that _should _have been framed with fangs; it nearly looked wrong without it. “But also because his parents and godfather abandoned him for a decade.”

Lily stared at him and felt for a second as if she was going to faint. Then she stood straight. “Harry knows why we did that.”

“Of course we are. My soulmate is a man of compassion and understanding, for which I must be grateful. But it has contributed to this _complex _of his that he would be easily abandoned. Why did you not take him with you when you ran?”

“How _could _we? It would have meant disrupting his education at Hogwarts and making him a fugitive when he was fifteen years old!”

“Of course it would have. But you don’t know Harry at all if you think that mattered to him, compared to being with you.”

Lily reminded herself that Riddle wasn’t a parent and wouldn’t understand the deep, defensive tide of reaction moving through her. “And parents get to make the decisions for their children, most of the time. We had to lead a running life from that day forwards. A limited life. It wasn’t what we wanted for him.”

“Interesting,” Riddle said, studying her.

“What?”

“When did what Harry wanted come into it?” Riddle asked, in the kind of detached tone Lily was more used to hearing Healers adopt. “Or did it never? Did only making decisions for him and telling him to hide himself and running away from him and ensuring that you could only meet with him sometimes come into it?”

“You don’t understand.”

“No. But I am willing to give you the chance to explain.” Riddle smiled, and this time I was an emptier and colder expression. “Because you’re special to my soulmate. Otherwise, I would have killed you by now for damaging him.”

“We did not _damage _him!”

“Oh? Then you haven’t noticed the way he looks at you, as if you’re going to disappear any second? You haven’t noticed that he’s at least as willing to confide in me as you, despite the fact that he’s _truly _known me for only a few weeks? You haven’t noticed that he seems to assume every person in his vicinity is going to abandon him the second he does something that’s ‘difficult’ for him or demands attention?”

“We _had _to go!”

“Both of you? One of you couldn’t stay and take the punishment? Your particular crime would have required three years in a non-Azkaban prison at most. You would have been out in that time and there for him for the past six years, not on the run.”

“James and I had to go together! Soulmates have to be together. It’s more important than anything else—”

Lily stopped.

The room was full of Riddle’s laughter, gentle if you heard it at a distance.

“I know that you don’t see it this way,” he said. “But as far as I am concerned, you put your _cause _before Harry at all times. That, and your soulmate bond. While you continually told him that his own soulmate bond wasn’t special enough to warrant even trying to get to know me, you chose your husband over your son, and your war over him, and your loyalty to Dumbledore over him, and _everything _over him!”

His voice had surged into a vicious whisper by the time he finished speaking, not a shout but a rattling noise that seemed to fill every corner. Lily flinched, but then held herself still. Riddle didn’t know the full context, she told herself again.

“Why are you bringing this up?” she asked. “You know very well that you would hurt Harry if you told him, and you’re not going to hurt me.”

“Because _someone _should have,” Riddle snapped. “And because if you make another decision where you put the greater good of people you’ve never even _met _over my soulmate’s while preserving your own precious bond and individual good, then you should know I will destroy you.”

“You won’t hurt me.”

“Do you think I need to cause physical pain to destroy you?” Riddle asked. “Your soul is bleeding right now because I told the truth. I can feel that much.”

“I’m not—affected as much as you thought I was,” Lily said. And she truly believed that. She continued to study Riddle. “I won’t abandon my son again.”

“Unless you thought it was for his own good. After all, you’re still defending that particular decision to me.”

“I know better than to think Albus Dumbledore infallible anymore.”

“There is a large difference between holding that belief and trusting Harry to know what is best for him and make his own decisions.”

“And you think _you _do that?”

Riddle shrugged. “I tell him what I will and won’t do, what I’ll stand aside for and what I won’t. At least Harry has the information to make his own decisions and decide how he’s going to respond, not just be left behind when someone disappears or be blindsided by the raids that the Order of the Phoenix made.”

He turned and departed the room before Lily could answer. She exhaled slowly and stared after him.

She supposed, in a sense, that she should thank Riddle for looking after Harry. It _was _true that she and James and Sirius hadn’t been there to do that for years.

On the other hand, she also wished, fervently, that Harry could have been paired with someone less—intense.

*

“What did you want to talk to my mum about?”

“About the way that your parents left you behind when they chose to become fugitives.”

Harry was on his feet before he even thought about it, his wand drawn. Tom smiled, his magic spreading out to encompass the room, and briefly flaring as though it was growing wings. Harry tried to ignore the sensation as he stalked up and jabbed a finger into Tom’s chest.

“I _don’t _want you to get in the way of me developing my relationship with my parents again,” he hissed.

“But that’s not what you’re angry about right at this moment. What are you angry about, Harry?”

“How did you—how did you know I felt that way about my parents?” Harry barely managed to stop his voice from shaking. “Did you read my mind?”

“Not at all.” Tom reached out and wrapped his hand around Harry’s wrist. Harry watched him, ready to break free the second Tom started to pull him forwards. This was too important to get distracted by the effect Tom’s touch had on him. But Tom only stood there, arm at full extension, eyes brilliant. “It’s there for everyone to see in the way you act as though anyone could leave you behind, the hurt they inflicted on you.”

“I understand why they did it. They could hardly take a fifteen-year-old child with them, and I—”

“Understanding is one thing, and feelings are another. What do you _feel_, Harry?”

Harry swallowed, and felt as though his throat was being cut by knives. He tugged his hand, and Tom let him go. Harry turned and paced around the dining room table, staring out the window for a second. Tom remained still.

“As though they finally decided they could never trust me,” Harry admitted. “As though everything was a test. They wanted me to stay at Hogwarts even though I was less likely to come to your attention if I was hiding with them, and it felt like they wanted to see if I would crumble and run to you. And the work in the Ministry, the same thing. I made the suggestion that they let me work there so I could feed them information, but I never expected them to take me seriously. Then they did. I mean, Dumbledore was the one who approved the idea, but my parents didn’t say anything against it.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “Except, later, they did,” he added, trying to be fair. “They said that what I was doing wasn’t worth the risk to my life and I should join them.”

“But they never tried seriously to discourage you from taking the Ministry job.”

Harry eyed him. “The way you would have.”

Tom simply smiled. “The situation would never have arisen.”

Harry decided not to think about that, and continued pacing in a slow circle around the table, ignoring it when he came near Tom and both the heat of his soulmate’s body and their burgeoning bond tugged on him. Tom just kept watching him, with that obsessive devotion that Harry told himself he hated, couldn’t get enough of in reality, and found so hard to admit that he might as well not look at Tom while he thought about it.

“I wanted to go with them,” Harry finally whispered. “I sent them an owl the night after they fled, asking them to meet me somewhere and let me come with them.”

“What did they do?”

“My dad sent me a Patronus telling me not to owl them again, because the letter might be intercepted.”

“Just that? Did he ever reply to your question about wanting to come with them?”

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. “No. I suppose they had to think of their safety first, and the safety of the other Order members, but—it was years before it stopped hurting.”

Tom’s face was blank and smooth. Harry shook his head at once. “Tom, stop it. You have no idea what it was like for them.”

“Perhaps not,” Tom said, although with harmonics in their bond that said he doubted his own ignorance. “But I know exactly what it was like for _you_. Your pain and loneliness were among the first things that drowned me when we established the emotional bond, did you know that? Along with guilt because you felt like you had _failed_.”

“I want you to promise me that you’ll never hurt my parents.”

“That vow has to be conditional, Harry. If they attack you, then I will return blow for blow.”

Harry stared at him. “They never would. They love me.”

“Loving parents don’t run away and leave their child behind for nine years. How many times did you see them between when they left you and when they finally came back? Tell me the _number _of times,” he added, when Harry opened his mouth. “Now how deep or rich any interaction was, I don’t care about that. The _number. _Now.”

Harry hissed at him, which made Tom smile, but not stop waiting. Harry could feel the incredible tug on his magic, and he wanted to curse at Tom. He could keep silent, and Tom wouldn’t harass him about it, but the question would hang between them asked and never unasked.

And he couldn’t _lie _to his fucking soulmate. Which meant that he couldn’t claim not to know the number.

Finally, he swallowed and said, “Twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five times in nine years.” Tom paced slowly towards him now. Harry was the one who remained still and watched him with narrowed eyes. Tom reached out and slid a slow hand up his neck, cupping his ear for a second, before touching the back of his head and drawing him close.

“I am never going to forgive them for what they did to you,” Tom whispered.

“You have to. Otherwise, it will hurt and hurt me.”

“There’s a difference between not hurting them unless they hurt you and forgiving them. Or did you think there wasn’t?” Tom rubbed his fingers gently behind Harry’s ear, and Harry closed his eyes in spite of himself. No one else had ever found that spot, but then, no one had ever been close to him in the way Tom was. “One thing you need to learn, Harry, is that there is a difference between intentions and actions.”

“I know that,” Harry muttered. “I wanted to kill Lestrange, but I held back and just hurt him.”

“Wonderfully,” Tom said. “_His pain was wonderful._” His arousal played through the bond, and Harry opened his eyes but just stared straight ahead. “But I meant when it comes to me. Your Order judged me for decades, thinking I had hidden intentions to start a war that would eliminate Muggles and Muggleborns, when they should simply have judged me by my actions.”

“Your actions that also include voting for horrible legislation because it’s convenient?” Harry snarled, and felt his magic activate around him, reaching out for Tom’s in lazy swirls. He pulled at it irritably, trying to separate them a little, and swore when he only physically tugged himself closer to Tom.

“Yes, judge me for that,” Tom said. “But that’s not what they judged me for. They thought all my actions were lulling them off-guard, and my hidden motivations were more important.”

“Motivations _are _important!”

“Would it matter to you what I believed, if I did the things you consider right?” Tom asked softly, his hands reaching out to cup the sides of Harry’s face. “If my voting record was pristine and I was speaking up for Muggles and Muggleborns all the time, but it turned out that I secretly despised them, would you care?”

“Yes, I would.” Harry glared at him. “I _know _what this is about. You’re thinking of playing up the redemption angle.”

“Do tell me what you’re thinking, Harry.” Tom’s finger moved back into that distracting place behind his ear again.

Harry managed to keep his eyes from crossing, and ignored the soft pulses of disappointment down the emotional bond. He hoped that he couldn’t resist Tom so well just because he was a virgin. That would imply he’d do whatever Tom wanted after they established the sexual part of the bond, which was _not _acceptable. “That you’ll start voting the way I want soon, and claiming that as your soulmate, I redeemed you. I won’t accept that. You can’t—you can’t do something right if you have the wrong motivations for it.”

“Oh,” Tom said, his voice deepening. “Then I should change my whole person? Bow to your desires and do exactly as you want?”

“What? No!” Harry jerked his head away.

“But I’m confused.” Tom smiled at him, and Harry hated how attractive he found it. “You don’t want me to act as I’ve been doing. You don’t want me to change my actions to please you while keeping my beliefs that you are the only person who matters to me. You don’t want me to bend to your will and become a different person. What _do _you want, Harry?”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it. He wanted Tom to be—like him. Valuing Muggleborns and Muggles because they were intrinsically worth as much as pure-bloods, as wizards. But it really did seem that Tom was going to never do that.

And he wanted Tom to be like him without forcing him into it. If Tom had woken up tomorrow morning and found goodness in his heart on his own, it would have been perfect. But it couldn’t be because Harry wanted it and had told him there was no choice.

“Well, I did think of a fourth course of action that might be acceptable to you,” Tom said brightly a few moments later.

“What?” Harry asked, turning.

“We could try to sever the bond if the kind of person I am is totally—”

“Don’t you fucking _dare _suggest that,” Harry snapped, and the air around him burst into fire before he thought about it.

Tom reached out with a raised eyebrow and ran his fingers through the flames. Harry started. It was like being petted on his soul. He swallowed and subdued them. No one had ever been able to be close to him when he was blazing like that, not even his parents or Sirius when he had done it as a kid.

“Then it seems,” Tom said, “that we’ll have to find a compromise. And what you scornfully call a _redemption angle _strikes me as the most plausible one. Given that I stood back in Diagon Alley and watched you destroy a pure-blood man I’ve often voted in concert with without raising my wand, we’ve laid a good foundation for it.”

Harry took a slow breath. Yes, things would probably never be perfect, but Tom was right about the compromise. Withdrawing, forcing Tom to act as he wanted, and doing nothing all unsettled his stomach with wrongness.

Before he could say anything, an owl soared through the window. Harry turned towards it with the uncomfortable churning relocated to his stomach. He recognized the bird. His name was Solaris, and the Order often used him for official messages.

To enemies.

Harry reached out a trembling hand, only to find Tom’s arm across his chest. Tom frowned at him and shook his head tolerantly, then cast a series of charms at the owl. One of them stopped him in midair and then conjured a perch beneath his feet. The others sparkled around the wings and on the letter.

Harry blinked. “You’re looking for—potions?”

Tom nodded, ignoring the indignant hooting from Solaris as if he heard things like that every day. “And charms that would enforce certain actions on your part.” He stepped back and studied the owl for a second, then used another charm. This one made a swirl of green light start around the letter, but it turned white as Harry watched. Tom sighed. “It also means that they haven’t used any poisons, either.”

“You would _prefer _them to have?” Harry asked in a low voice as he stepped through the last of the magic to hold his hand out to Solaris. He got the indignant hooting, too, but at least he handed the letter over.

“It would make your inevitable rupture with them less painful if you made the first move.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but only until the parchment started to glow blue when he touched it. He stared at it, his mouth feeling frozen. Then he swallowed and unrolled the letter.

“What does that spell do, Harry?” Tom spoke calmly, but the bond jolted in a way that told Harry the only reason Tom wasn’t already at his side snatching the letter away was that Harry appeared physically unharmed.

“I won’t know until I read the letter,” Harry said, and didn’t much bother to damp his own emotions as they entered the bond. Tom stepped up beside him and bent over to read the letter at the same time as he did, but given what Harry now knew it contained, he couldn’t fault Tom for that.

_Dear Harry, _said Hermione’s handwriting,

_Please forgive me for the spell. I know that you aren’t evil or insane, now that I’ve had more time to think about it. I just can’t support what you’re doing, either. You might reform Riddle, but I think it’s a very small chance, and in the meantime, Muggles and Muggleborns will be tortured and dying. And if you fall in love with him and his power doubles, there will be no one who can defeat him._

_Therefore, I’ve bound you to meet me in a duel that will decide the matter. If you win, then Ron and I will turn ourselves in and face punishment for our “crimes.” And if I win, I have the right to demand that you reject the bond with Riddle the way that Professor Dumbledore rejected his with Gellert Grindelwald._

_Hermione._

Harry closed his eyes. Tom’s hand was almost crushing his wrist, but he only had to shove a little with his magic, and Tom released him. Harry swallowed and didn’t look at him.

“Explain to me how she’s _bound _you.” The word itself was in Parseltongue.

“A spell the Order developed,” Harry said softly, still not opening his eyes. “I didn’t think to check for it because—well, it’s not commonly-used, and your charms wouldn’t have found it, anyway. It can be used to bind anyone who touches the parchment to a certain course of action. It’s how Dumbledore kept some of the people who worked in the Ministry for the Order and had a change of heart from betraying us. Them, I mean,” he added hastily, as Tom’s magic coiled and lashed in hatred. “They couldn’t talk about anything they’d done on behalf of the Order after that, but magic scanning them wouldn’t have come up with anything similar to the Imperius Curse.”

“You’re not going to duel this woman.”

“I won’t have any choice,” Harry said. “That’s what the spell does. If you had me under sedation and in an area that was impossible to Apparate out of, then it would wake me up and forcibly Apparate me to the place she’s chosen when the time comes. It would make sure that I was alert and had my wand in my hand.”

Tom was silent. Harry could feel a darkness tumbling through the bond that he hadn’t sensed before. Then Tom clamped his hands on Harry’s shoulders and turned him around. Harry met his eyes solemnly.

“If you do not _try _in this duel,” Tom began, “then you will be forced by the same spell to reject our bond.”

“Yes, I will.” Harry reached up and hooked his fingers gently around Tom’s wrist. “But there are two advantages here.”

“Which are?” Tom’s magic was probably visible in the air right now, but Harry had closed his eyes.

“First, Hermione has never seen me use my magic fully,” Harry said. “I hid it from her and Ron and everyone else but my parents and Dumbledore. She thinks she can win the duel, which says something about how she much she really knows my power.”

“And second?”

Harry opened his eyes and saw Tom stare into them in fascination. He knew they were shining, at the moment, more like green glass lit behind with fire than anything else. He had looked into the mirror before when he felt like this, when he had to be in private with his real emotions and there was no one he could show them to.

“She probably thinks that I’m going to hold back and not try that hard because I don’t want to see her and Ron punished,” Harry said. “But I am—Tom, I don’t want to reject the bond even more. I think this is probably Dumbledore’s latest suggestion for a way to get me back in the Order’s fold. It doesn’t feel like something Hermione would have done on her own. And…”

Tom said nothing, which meant Harry could unleash his anger around himself as visible, lifted dragon wings made of pure light.

“By forcing me to duel my friend, he’s made me _really _angry,” Harry said.


	19. Surprises

“Are you ready for your duel?”

“I’m more ready than you look,” Harry said, and squinted at Tom. Despite the fact that he’d gone to bed at a reasonable time last night—Harry should know, when he’d shared the bed—Tom looked as pale as though he’d got the flu. His hands were trembling a little, and he sipped at the cup of tea that he’d put a truly ridiculous amount of milk in as if he actually needed it. “What happened to you?”

“Something,” Tom said, and their bond vibrated with a thrum that Harry had learned to take as a warning. He sighed. All right. Tom couldn’t lie to him, but he was asking Harry to drop it, and Harry was going to prove that he was a more considerate soulmate than the wanker he was paired with, who wouldn’t have dropped it except in a crater if Harry looked like that.

Maybe it was just that Tom feared losing him, Harry thought, a little subdued. He might have looked the same way if he had known that Tom was facing a duel with Dumbledore.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Sirius volunteered from across the table. He had his own cup of tea, but Harry was fairly sure it was Firewhisky and not brandy that he’d put in it. “I know you’re powerful, Harry, but she’s going to have Ron’s magic that she can call on, you know, not just hers.”

“And Harry will have mine,” Tom snapped, so quick on the heels of Sirius’s words that Harry thought he hardly heard them.

“You haven’t completed the full magical bond.” Sirius’s eyes were dark, and either he was so concerned about Harry or Tom looked so bad that he didn’t seem inclined to back down from Tom the way he normally would have. “Ron and Hermione have. Harry will be able to pull on your magic, but not as well—and you’re a fool if you don’t think this is a trap.”

“It is,” Harry said, to ward off more godfather-soulmate sniping. “I know it is. But you forget, Sirius, that I don’t have a choice about whether it’s a good idea or not. Hermione used that handy little spell you helped the Order develop to make sure I have to duel her.” He sipped his own tea and grimaced. At the moment, milk or Firewhisky were sounding like good ideas for him, too.

“Where will the duel be?” Lily asked. She hadn’t, it felt like, looked away from Harry since she saw Hermione’s letter. Harry didn’t know how much of that was knowing he had to fight a duel under duress and how much was the conversation Tom had had with her.

“It’s going to be someplace none of us know much about,” James answered for her. “You know they won’t expose the Order’s hiding spot that way.”

“Neither have any of you,” Tom said.

Lily said nothing. Sirius looked pensive, as if it had occurred to him that Tom could ask him about the Order’s refuge and he would have no choice but to answer. James was the one who said, more cool and steady than Harry had heard him in weeks, “We didn’t betray the Order so much as start thinking that we wanted to spend time with our son. Don’t mistake that for being on your side, Riddle. It’s not.”

“I don’t mistake it,” Tom said, and sipped his tea again.

James kept studying him, but said nothing more. Harry swallowed his uneasiness. Tom looks weak enough that perhaps they _might _attack, maybe. And that was a horrible thing to be thinking about his own parents, but now that the thought was in his head, he was glad that Tom was coming with him to the duel.

Not that he would have been able to go alone, no matter what happened.

Even as Harry thought that, he felt the cold lump in his stomach that wasn’t the result of any hurt he could imagine. He had heard Hermione describe the way the spell worked, and knew it was summoning him to the duel. He stretched out a hand to Tom, who stood and took it immediately, sheltering him close to a warm body that managed to dissipate some of the cold.

“This is like a Portkey?” Tom whispered as the walls dissolved around them into wheels of white light.

“The closest thing,” Harry admitted, and then the wheels faded and he stood on a battlefield.

That was his first thought, even though a second later he saw that there was no ripped-up ground, and no corpses were lying scattered, as he had first thought, because of the scattered logs and rocks. Instead, the air was heavy with floating shields that were meant to contain cast spells, and the dueling platform a short way in front of them was made of dark, somber wood, scored with runes that would Vanish blood and other fluids that touched them. Hermione already waited on top of the platform, her face pale, clutching her wand.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered. She stared at Tom. “Why did you bring _him_?”

“He wouldn’t have come alone,” Harry said, which was all he was inclined to explain right now, when his friend was in the state she was in. “How thick are the wards around the dueling platform?” He could have tried to sense them himself, but he didn’t want to reveal too much about his magic in case Hermione was still ignorant.

“Thick enough to prevent your lover from interfering,” Hermione said tartly.

“And also Ron?” Harry moved away from Tom and sprang lightly onto the dueling platform. Runes lit beneath him, and the air around the sides shimmered, enclosing them in a box of transparent light. That would also prevent someone from falling over the side of the platform accidentally, Harry knew. He spun his wand in his fingers, watching Hermione intently.

“It won’t keep Ron out,” Hermione said quietly. “We’re a bonded pair.”

“What do you think Tom and I are?” Harry asked, and tugged on the magical bond. The air around him swarmed in instants with flecks of light, some of which grew in size and number until they resembled fireballs. Hermione stared at him with an open mouth. Harry held out his hand, and one of the blue fireballs landed in his palm and cast out small flames that tickled his palm. Harry curved his fingers around it and tilted his head at Hermione. “Hmmm?”

“That’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“Because he _can’t _love! That means you can’t make a bond!”

Harry shook his head. “Hermione, even Dumbledore thinks that Tom might become more powerful if _I _love _him_. That was the whole point of trying to keep me away from him.” He sighed and watched the way Hermione’s wand twitched. Most of the time, she was clear-headed, but when she was surprised or upset, she would react impulsively. “Not that it succeeded. And we did manage to bond. Twice.”

“Twice?”

Harry nodded. “The emotional bond and the magical one.”

He saw the moment when her eyes widened, when her terror flooded them, and when she struck out with a silent spell. Harry countered it with an easy twist of his wand, and then he wrapped his body in the fireballs and shielded himself from the broad Blasting Curse she sent his way. The fireballs exploded like bubbles full of sparks as the curse caught him, but nothing touched Harry.

Then Harry heard multiple pops of Apparition all around the edges of the dueling platform and barely avoided nodding. Yes, the Order was coming in. Harry and Tom had known this was a trap, and that the Order would never let Hermione and Ron fight Harry alone.

Harry settled his focus. He would defend himself. He could only hope that Tom, magically-exhausted as he was, would be able to do the same.

*

“Tom.”

Tom turned enough that he could keep both Harry and Albus in view, and nodded to him. “Albus.” He smiled as Harry blocked the Blasting Curse with the fireballs, and folded his own arms, his fingers tightening in the cloth of his robes for a second. That reassured him that his own contribution to the fight was still waiting for him.

“Both of you are going to suffer now,” Albus said in a low voice. “If you hadn’t been so selfish, it need only have been you.”

Tom let himself gape the way he wanted to. It would lead to the impression that he was caught off-guard. “Merlin, Albus, you think Harry _wasn’t _suffering? I know that he wonders how much you lied to him and how much you must hate him. He thinks that you and his parents probably never trusted him, since he was literally born with my soul-mark on his arm.”

It was Albus’s turn to stare. Then he took a ragged breath and said, “That is not true.” He drew his wand. “I will make sure that Harry knows the truth once we have captured him and forced him to sever the bond.”

“Even you use the word _forced_,” Tom said softly, and surveyed the Order members appearing around him. There were a few missing he would have expected to see, namely anyone with ginger hair, except for the youngest male Weasley. “Ah, you’re preparing the runic configuration to channel magic into Granger?”

“I knew she couldn’t defeat Harry on her own.”

“Your duel was a sham, and Harry’s element of choice was a pretense,” Tom said lightly. Anger was singing through him like a burst of fire, but he didn’t want to let it go too suddenly. That might distract Harry when he was in the middle of a complicated dodge. “I don’t see any reason why I should let you have your way.”

Albus let out a low laugh that seemed almost ripped out of him. “I don’t know what you can do to stop us, Tom. You look run ragged. Did you stay up all night trying to persuade Harry not to sever your bond?”

Tom smiled peacefully and let his fingers spread out, shaking his arms so that his sleeves stood free of them. “Not quite. _Now_.”

The last word was in Parseltongue, and the defenses he had been up all night creating slithered out of his robe and down to the ground. Albus had paled at the Parseltongue, but he shook his head at the sight of the small black snakes. They had gold and red flakes of color worked into their scales, but Tom had to admit they didn’t look that impressive.

Unless, of course, you knew what they were.

“Even the most venomous vipers are not a problem for a group of adult wizards standing in a runic configuration and channeling their magic into a single person,” Albus said. His wand had begun to glow. He took a step back that put him into the upper line of the configuration. “And they are not infant basilisks. They’re too small.”

“They are not,” Tom agreed, and Albus paused at the sight of his smile. Tom turned to his snakes. “_Grow._”

The flakes of red and gold drifted off their scales and encircled them for a moment like the fireballs had encircled Harry. Tom was pleased by the comparison. He would have to remember to tell Harry about it.

In seconds, the light had formed cocoons, which lengthened and bent, especially near the tops. Then they expanded rapidly, and by the time they tore open to disgorge Tom’s serpents, they had increased to ten meters each. They reared above the terrified and staring Order wizards and opened their mouths to hiss.

“_These _kinds of snakes, I think you’ll agree,” said Tom conversationally as he drew his wand, “are a problem.”

*

Hermione felt close to fainting as she watched the huge serpents loom over the Order. She should have guessed that Riddle would try to cheat in the duel with Parselmagic.

But she had no choice but to keep on going. Ron’s magic was flooding into her through their bond, steady and brilliant, and the conduit had opened behind her down which the Order had intended to send their power. Hermione was well-read in her own right, and had been strong even before she bonded with Ron.

In a few moments, she understood that none of that was probably going to matter.

Harry was surrounded by not just the fireballs but a glittering corona of magic that only grew as they battled, exchanging hexes, jinxes, curses, countercurses, and spells that were meant to affect their environment. Hermione barely managed to end a charm that turned the air in her lungs to smoke and lunged back, finding herself trapped against one of the shimmering walls that enclosed the platform.

And to make it worse, the runic configuration the Order had arranged to stand in had already been disrupted. Hermione cast a quick glance over her shoulder and saw the serpents, tails lashing, sending wizards and witches flying like Muggle skittles. The magic they’d summoned was writhing above them, trailing in confused patterns.

A quick glance was all she could afford, because Harry was already turning the wood beneath her feet to mud. Hermione leaped to the side and blasted him with a Bone-Breaking Curse—well, it should have been. It stopped existing halfway to Harry, devoured by a serpent of lightning that extended itself in front of him.

“What, are you a Parselmouth, too?” Hermione gasped. She had a harsh catch in her side that indicated she was running out of breath. She avoided touching it as she stared at Harry. He _shouldn’t _have been able to do this.

“My soulmate is, and we’re magically bonded,” Harry said softly. He gestured with his wand, a vertical slash in front of his chest that Hermione had never seen before, and a door seemed to open in the air. A small, flying creature struggled out of it, golden and dripping with red liquid that Hermione shuddered at the sight of. “And remember that no matter how powerful we’ll become after a full bond, our power is _commensurate _when we’re born, Hermione.”

“You never—”

Harry sent the small creature, like a little dragon, straight at her. Hermione had to construct a net to wrap around it and bind it to the floor of the dueling platform, and by then, Harry had moved on to something else, whipping his wand in a long corkscrew shape in front of him while chanting rapidly under his breath.

“Hermione!”

She threw a desperate glance towards Ron and swallowed. “Help the others get back up, Ron.”

Ron nodded and turned without arguing, picking up her desperation from the mental and emotional bond. Right at the moment, getting people into place so they could start pumping magic into her again was more important than feeding her power himself.

She had to turn back to fend off the whirlwind that was growing up in front of Harry, visible waves of curving white power that rose and then aimed straight at her. Hermione knew he was trying to disarm her. They had worked on this spell in seventh-year Defense. But Harry had never seemed that good at casting it then…

Hermione felt a bitter pulse travel through her stomach and come out her mouth. “How long have you been lying to us, Harry?”

“Longer than you’ve been lying to me,” Harry said. His hair was stirring only a little in his own whirlwind, but his eyes shone with sustained power. He looked stronger than Hermione had felt when she had over twenty people lending her magic.

“We only did that because we knew you would disapprove!” The pain in Hermione’s side had grown worse. She had to keep Harry talking, for now, because she needed a chance to recover and let Ron do what he’d gone to do.

“Funny. My motivation for lying was exactly the same.”

“If you’d told us the truth, then maybe we could have given you the level of comfort so that you wouldn’t have gone to Riddle—”

“Dumbledore was the one who decided that I had to be totally isolated and you couldn’t be trusted. Maybe take it up with him.”

Hermione shook her head. Arguing with Harry for its own sake was fruitless—the boy she had known had probably been half a deception from the start—but this topic might keep them occupied for a second. And Harry had already proven that he didn’t want to really hurt her, exactly the way Professor Dumbledore had said would happen. This would work. “He was right. You couldn’t be tempted.”

“But I should have told you the truth anyway?”

Hermione hesitated. That response hadn’t gone the way she’d imagined it. Harry tended to back away from arguments.

_That was a deception, too, _Hermione decided, locking eyes with Harry. Power looked straight back at her.

“I mean—you could have come with us when the Order went into hiding and not worked at the Ministry. Then you could have told us the truth, and we could have told you.”

“I think Professor Dumbledore was wise to keep me out of the Order’s space, actually. Not because he was right about needing to isolate me from Tom.” Harry swung his wand, limbering his arm, and Hermione felt the silent torrent of power soaring up from the ground. “But because he knew I would object to tactics like collapsing a roof on top of hundreds of innocents or raiding the Department of Mysteries and _killing people._”

“Your bloody soulmate did the same thing,” Hermione hissed, even as she began to work her fingers around her wand. She listened intently, not willing to turn away from Harry, but there were still screams and hisses behind her. Riddle must have some form of protection on his snakes so Ron couldn’t take care of them easily. “He _killed _people. He planned to kill people.”

“So that makes murdering people in return okay?”

“People who were working for him.”

“And reporters who happened to be in the building on the same day. And Aurors, including some who might have been loyal to the Order. And at least one Unspeakable’s daughter who was visiting the Department of Mysteries and had nothing to do with the experiments, Hermione! I read the goddamn report!”

His voice hadn’t risen, which was probably the worst thing. Hermione swallowed and wondered what the hell was taking Ron so long with the snakes. They had studied tactics against the things, and Ron in particular had come up with some spells that had been used long ago by Light wizards to fight Parselmouths.

Right now, she would have given almost anything to be the one fighting Riddle’s magic instead of here, facing Harry’s condemning eyes.

“It doesn’t make what he did right,” she whispered.

“No, of course not. He and I are already starting to talk about that. We’re going to change things, change the way he operates. Tom knows he has to do that or risk losing me.”

“And you think he _cares _about that?”

“I used to think you were smart.”

Hermione recoiled before she could think about it. The tone of Harry’s voice was so scathing that she didn’t even make the decision. “What?”

“You keep dredging up all these logical contradictions, Hermione.” Harry lifted his hands in front of him, holding them palm out, and shining strands of blue and red were forming across them. Hermione had no idea what that was, which was only one of the reasons she didn’t like it. “Supposedly I should have told you the truth, but it was right of Dumbledore to command me to lie. Tom wants me desperately to boost his power, but he doesn’t care about losing me and won’t ever change. _Think_.”

Hermione would have replied, but a triumphant shout from behind her told her that Ron must have succeeded at last. Harry’s eyes went past her shoulder, so she felt free to turn and look, too.

She saw what Ron had done.

And a second later, she saw what happened next.

*

Fighting Albus was no easy thing, but on the other hand, he couldn’t move, unless he wanted to give up his place in the runic configuration that he had counted on to help his “champion” win the duel. And that meant he couldn’t dodge, and he had raised a shield that Tom had already managed to crack simply because of the heavy curses he was flinging at it.

And there were his snakes.

Weasley, Harry’s friend, was fighting them, casting spells designed to shatter scales and weaken coils. Tom would be interested to know where Weasley had found them, but given that his snakes were interested mostly in knocking people aside and incapacitating them, not killing them, he thought he would get the chance to ask.

Then came the moment that Tom had been anticipating in silence for some time. Weasley managed to slice off the head of the immense snake on the left. He let out a shout that rang in the air for a moment.

A moment.

Because the stump had sealed itself, and what grew from it were two twisting, slender necks, each bearing a lump that rapidly became a snout, a pair of glowing eyes, snapping jaws. One of them aimed at Weasley and nearly knocked him to the ground, he was so stunned, while the second one breathed out a stream of weak fire towards the Order’s members.

Not fire that would kill. Tom had created his guardians in a Parseltongue ritual last night without the ability to substantially harm anyone except on accident. Harry must have friends among the Order and still had a disgusting loyalty to them, so he might not forgive Tom if they got hurt.

But the mere _sight _of fire drove some people mad with fear, and some of them were running away now, shouting, “Dragon!”

“They are hydras!” Albus was screaming. “Fight them by burning the necks before a head can grow back!”

Tom nodded in respect to his old opponent’s knowledge, and flexed his hands. He would need a specific spell to crack Albus’s shield and keep him from being dangerous, but he would also need uninterrupted time to cast it.

From the way Albus turned towards him with fire and murder in his eyes, he wouldn’t get the chance. Tom tugged, and Harry swept magic back towards him with a slight tilt of his head. Tom gathered it around him and returned to _their _duel.

*

_Tom was weak because he spent all night conjuring hydras. The great git could have _told _me._

Harry forced down his relief and fondness and went back to weaving the net across his hands. And he saw the flash in Hermione’s eyes that told him she had come to understand she was going to lose.

She _was _smart. But she also liked to be involved in a good fight for a good cause, and she would listen to Dumbledore above anyone else. Harry suspected she had been ignoring her own fears, suspicions, and awareness of the contradictions in the Order’s stance for a long time, enraptured by the romance of being a revolutionary struggling against a tyrannical government.

And could Harry blame her for that? He had romanticized the struggle much the same way, and he had listened to Dumbledore long after he should have started to doubt his motivations.

“You can’t take me in,” Hermione whispered. “He’ll kill us.”

“Execution is actually only a regular punishment for rituals that involve human sacrifice, you know,” Harry said calmly. His net was almost complete, but he wondered if he would need it. Hermione had gone pale and was staring past him. “And Tom won’t punish you as harshly if I ask him.”

“_Because _you’re asking him,” Hermione said, with a flash of her old impatience.

Harry shrugged. “I’ve had that argument with him about intentions versus actions, and haven’t convinced him not to do what I want because I want it yet. You can have it with him and see if you get any further.”

“What—what if I told you that you had to sever your bond with Riddle for the good of the world?”

Harry’s hands were so thick with the jeweled net now that he knew he would have to fling the spell soon. He met Hermione’s stare. “Then I would ask you how you know, and who told you.”

“Professor Dumbledore told me.”

Harry shook his head and lifted his arms. “Then I don’t believe you.”

“Wait! This is something that no one else knows, Harry, not even Ron. I _have _to tell you. I have to let you know, and then maybe you’ll see sense and see how bad a powerful man like Riddle being even more powerful would be for the world.” Hermione stood straighter. “Can you just pay attention to me for a moment?”

“You have literally thirty seconds, Hermione.”

“Professor Dumbledore was shown a vision by a phoenix that two powerful wizards would damn the world if they bonded!”

Harry arched his eyebrows and spread his hands. The net soared up in front of him, radiating colors like diamonds and sapphires.

“And that’s _it_? It sounds like it might have meant Dumbledore and Grindelwald, for all you know, or any other two—”

And then Ron’s spell hit him in the back.

*

Pain slid down the bond, so thick and hot that Tom stumbled for a second. Since it carried him beneath one of Albus’s curses, that wasn’t such a bad thing. But he reacted with a further drop to the ground, and then turned and hissed in Parseltongue, “_Protect my soulmate_!”

The nearest hydra turned and slithered towards the dueling platform. Tom watched it for a second before he snapped his attention back towards Albus. The man was smiling and shaking his head a little.

“You have discovered that an untrained warrior can be a liability as well as an asset, have you, Tom?” he asked softly.

Tom dug his hands into the dirt beneath him. There was only one answer he could make to that, and it would exhaust him. But at the moment, he was feeding most of his power towards Harry and the agony that drowned him through the emotional bond anyway. Right now, he was inclined to make the answer.

He hissed softly, so that Albus’s rumored understanding of Parseltongue wouldn’t aid him, “_Chthonic ones, come to me._”

The ground heaved underneath him, and his magic flooded out of him and downwards. Tom staggered as he came back to his feet. He glanced in Harry’s direction and found that he was standing upright, although swaying back and forth on his feet. He caught Tom’s eye and smiled weakly.

His back was a mess. There was a _hole _in his robes, with singed cloth around it and a mass of flesh in the middle that Tom stared silently at. His anger rose through the bond, and Harry answered it with a crooked eyebrow in the seconds before he vanished behind the protective body of a three-headed hydra and flung the jeweled net at Granger.

“Are you ready to yield now, Tom?”

Tom stared at Albus and flavored his rage with hatred. This man had kept his soulmate from Tom. He had intended to sever their bond once it was established. He had, perhaps, intended for his friends to _kill _Harry, since they had used that kind of spell on him.

“I will exult in your death,” Tom said softly.

Albus blinked at him, perhaps taken off-guard by the seriousness of his tone. “I am afraid it will have to be the other way around, Tom, my boy.”

Tom laughed and braced himself on the swell of earth that had abruptly risen beside him. “Are you _sure _of that?” he asked, and then the ground broke apart, in the same moment that Albus’s confidence had begun to disintegrate.

The earth-serpent that rose from the collapsing dirt was a rich brown all over, the color of fine agates, but its eyes were rubies. Tom inclined his head as others surged up around him, colored like feldspar and emeralds and sandstone. “_Subdue everyone but the man who smells like my magic. Do not kill._”

The serpents had a simple way of following his command: they wrapped around legs and arms and dragged the members of the Order of the Phoenix beneath the earth. When they were buried up to their heads, it didn’t matter how much magic they had. Few of them had ever studied wandless spells, it was clear, and they couldn’t move their wands.

Albus blasted several of the serpents apart, but as more and more of his followers became helpless, the ones that were left just turned more of their attention to him. Albus backed up towards what Tom suspected was an Apparition point. Tom just watched. Calling the chthonic ones had taken the last of his strength, unfortunately. He couldn’t defend himself if Albus cast a curse or stop him if tried to leave. Three snakes were already curled next to Tom, of course, ready to place themselves in the way if Albus did try a curse.

“You don’t know what you are about to destroy,” Albus whispered.

“No, I don’t. Because you never shared knowledge, did you?” Tom shook his head. “You didn’t even have the sense to use Harry as a bribe, to tell me that you had my soulmate and I could have access to him for the price of making changes in my laws or stepping down from power.”

Albus’s face was the color of old cheese, and Tom didn’t think it had much to do with the earth heaving like water around him. “That would have been—immoral.”

Tom started to laugh, and couldn’t stop even when he felt something low down in his chest nearly tear. “More immoral than what you did? Telling him over and over that he could never have even the bond that you established with your Gellert?”

“You have _no idea _what kind of fates you’re dealing with, Tom.”

“You hardly told me.”

“You will regret that you did not simply give in and let him go,” Albus said, and swirled his wand around himself. The air lit with brilliant fire, and he flashed away in a form of travel that was absolutely not Apparition.

Tom supported himself with one hand on the head of an earth-serpent that had risen before him, and, accompanied by his second hydra, went to see what had happened to his soulmate.

*

The jeweled net had bound Hermione to the shimmering wall around the platform, which remained because no one had officially surrendered to end the duel and the spell. Harry sat down heavily, leaning against the column of the hydra’s neck. His back ached with pain, but he had already channeled some of his magic to subdue what he suspected was a major wound.

He stared at Ron, who was up to his neck in dirt and had ceased to struggle. He watched Harry with quiet eyes, a dark stubbornness in them that Harry remembered too well from Hogwarts. Ron wasn’t going to answer any questions.

Harry asked one anyway. “Why did you curse me in the back?”

“It should have forced you to draw in so much magic that it would have dropped Riddle’s shield and we could kill him.”

Harry sighed and tipped his head back. He knew that in a few seconds Tom would be there, and he was stunned that Ron had actually spoken. But he did shake his head and murmur, “And what do you think would have happened to me when he died, since we’re bonded in emotions and magic?”

“We would have healed you so that you couldn’t follow him into death. Got you to a Mind-Healer.”

“We’ll get him to a physical Healer as it is,” Tom said, and then he was there, limping and with a faint smile on his face. He reached out and touched Harry’s shoulder, and his face went blank for a second. Then he glanced at Ron. “Do you realize only the strength of our magical bond and the presence of my hydra is keeping him from bleeding out right here?”

“Harry’s not a _Parselmouth_. He can’t benefit from a hydra.”

“I am. And he is cradled in my magic.” Tom’s voice was clipped, and the bond around Harry had heated like sunlight reflected through glass. He turned. “We’re going to a Healer, now. I’ll send Aurors to fetch them all later.”

Harry cleared his throat. “They might not be here, if you give Dumbledore time to come back and free them.”

“I gave nearly all my remaining magic to feed these earth-serpents,” Tom said, with a jerk of his head at the strange snakes still crawling around the clearing. “They won’t listen to anyone but me, and destroying them would take more power than Dumbledore’s got if he has to blow them all to pieces one by one.” He gestured and hissed, and the hydra near Harry bent and gently lifted him by wrapping all three necks around him. “No more arguing, Harry.”

“Wasn’t arguing,” Harry muttered. His consciousness was slipping away from him. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Tom reached out and touched him, and Harry did manage to look long enough to say, “Don’t hurt them.”

“My snakes have not killed a single Order member,” Tom said. “I did that for you.”

Harry managed to smile. He would probably despise that properly later. “Know.”

He slipped away then, and the last thing was Tom pacing beside the hydra as it slithered off the dueling platform.


	20. Sessions

Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. She was afraid that she would start sobbing otherwise, and that was hardly the picture she wanted to present to the Dark wizards who would come to interrogate them.

She was in a room with Ron that could have come from a prestigious Muggle hotel. The walls were a soft yellow color with one, unmoving, landscape painting that showed a curling ocean wave about to break on a black stone beach. There was a twin bed with white sheets, a single table with two chairs, a bathroom that had charms to start water running and flush the loo automatically, and three meals delivered a day due to house-elf magic.

But the suppression spells woven into the walls were so thick that she couldn’t touch Ron’s magic at all. It made her feel as if she’d lost a third eye that she’d taken no notice of until now.

“Are you all right, Hermione?”

Ron had been sitting beside her on the bed for the past hour, but his emotions were as muted as the magic. Hermione turned and buried her face in his shoulder, shuddering. Ron stroked her hair and made meaningless little shushing sounds that Hermione knew he meant well. But nothing was going to be all right again.

Riddle was going to take over the world. He was going to subjugate Muggleborns and may eliminate them altogether. And he was going to do worse to Muggles.

Because they had _failed._

They should have moved decisively in so many different directions, Hermione mourned as Ron wrapped an arm around her waist. They should have talked to Harry and made him divulge the truth when they noticed him staring gloomily into the distance all the time. And the gloom got worse when someone found their soulmate. Hermione had thought, at the time, that Harry was simply upset not to be matched yet, and had encouraged him by telling him that the phoenix was an ambiguous symbol. His soulmate could be someone deeply interested in Light magic, or who had been reborn in some way, or who was a bird Animagus—

She’d never probed deeply enough into his state. She’d left him lonely enough that he’d never truly accepted that he couldn’t have his soulmate, and had gone seeking Riddle instead of backing away from him.

She hadn’t opposed the idea of Harry working in the Ministry. She had been concerned about whether Harry would be safe when he was the son of two members of the Order of the Phoenix and the godson of another. She’d thought he probably wouldn’t be able to pass much useful information to them with his position in the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

But she hadn’t asked enough questions about _why _he wanted to do it when it was so dangerous. Obviously, the bond with Riddle had been yanking him in that direction all along.  
She hadn’t told him the truth. Of course, neither had Ron, but Hermione still blamed herself more. She was the one who had noticed Harry’s edginess and silence and wondered about the Ministry plan and still hadn’t questioned him. Ron had seemed content to support his best mate.

“What can we do?” she whispered, and Ron sighed and lowered his head so that his chin was resting on her hair. They had clung to each other like that when they had first come back from the raid on the Department of Mysteries, and Hermione’s heart had ached.

“There’s not much we can do,” Ron said. “Except continue to be loyal to the Order and have an honorable death.”

Hermione took a deep breath and sat back from him, wiping at her eyes. “Then do you think we won’t have a chance to convince Harry?”

Ron slowly shook his head. “I can’t see that Riddle is going to let us alone with him. You saw the way Harry was holding back during the duel and using non-lethal spells. He still cares about us. Riddle is probably afraid that we’ll talk him around again if we’re alone with him.”

Hermione breathed out. “If Harry survives.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Hermione, _you _were the who told me to use that spell.”

“Not in the back!”

“It wasn’t the most honorable thing to do, but neither was bringing the Order to the fight,” Ron said. “Or Harry bringing Riddle. I told you, Hermione, we have to be _practical _about this. That spell isn’t going to kill Harry, and it would let us weaken his bond to Riddle in time if we only could have got him away.”

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but the door opened at the same time. She felt Ron stand and move in between her and the door. She had closed her eyes because she didn’t want to see Riddle’s smug and mocking face.

Instead, she heard his voice, and it wasn’t mocking or smug. It was as soft and dark as if thunder had grown the ability to speak. “Harry is alive. If he had died, you would wish you had.”

“Does Harry know you want to torture us?” Ron asked. Brash, brave, as always, and Hermione could feel his emotions a little better now, vibrating with contained fury. Maybe the wards had lessened when the door opened. “I can’t think he’d approve of that.”

“I’m not going to torture you. I am telling you the truth.” Riddle moved further into the room and shut the door behind him. Hermione decided that she’d had enough of sitting there with her eyes closed like an idiot, and looked at him. It was harder to make him out than she’d thought, despite the sun-like illumination that had begun to glow from the walls with his entrance.

Then Riddle glanced at her, and Hermione swallowed hard and held very still. The _reason _it was so hard to make him out, she realized, was that his magic had seeped from his skin to surround his head like the flared hood of a cobra.

“If Harry had died,” Riddle continued, pacing a step towards them, “my sanity would have gone with him. I would make you pray for death then.”

“That would only happen if you were true soulmates who had completed all the bonds,” Ron said, tensing next to Hermione but not moving. “I know you aren’t.”

Riddle laughed softly. “What, Dumbledore didn’t raise you on tales of my madness and how I was only constructing a sane mask to lurk behind on my way to taking over the world?”

“It wasn’t tales,” Hermione said. She had got her churning stomach under control and managed to look at Riddle with as much contempt as she could muster. “It’s the truth. You’re doing it now. You’ve built up the groundwork, and in a few years or decades at most, you’re going to take over the wizarding world completely, forbid Muggleborns from attending Hogwarts, and start killing off Muggles. Unless someone manages to defeat you before then.”

“And I’ve been working towards this for, what? Fifty years now? Come, tell me.”

Hermione hesitated. This was a trap, and she knew it. There were no way that Riddle was as reasonable as he sounded right now.

On the other hand, she couldn’t stop defending the Order’s ideals just because Riddle had her a little inconvenienced right now. She lifted her chin proudly and said, “Yes, you have. Maybe longer than that. Professor Dumbledore thinks that you might have started working towards it when you were a student and found out about the Slytherin legacy. There were people who would follow you just for that.”

“Idiots,” Ron muttered, not enough under his breath. Hermione leaned harder on him, but Riddle didn’t seem inclined to notice. Instead, he was nodding thoughtfully, which wasn’t what she’d expected.

“And how long would I need to prepare these secret genocidal plans that, at the same time, weren’t so secret that Dumbledore couldn’t find out about them? More to the point, why didn’t he reveal my genocidal secret to the world once he knew it?”’

“No one would have believed him,” Ron said bitterly. “You were too popular. The same reason you can’t arrest _him_.”

“Oh, that is likely to change now that he has participated, very publicly, in a banned ritual with a vigilante group,” Riddle murmured. “But to return to the main point. I have prepared for fifty years. I suppose that if I ‘prepared’ for ten more, or thirty more, and then died of old age, you would still never believe that I had simply been advancing my political agenda instead of secretly plotting genocide.”

“You’re trying to catch people off-guard,” Hermione said, despite the uneasiness that was sparkling deep inside her soul like a diamond in a velvet casing. “You want to lull them. You’d take as long as it needs to do that.”

“Fascinating.” Riddle tilted his head. “It occurs to me that there is no way I can exonerate myself in your eyes. Denials that I was doing such a thing would only seem like one more layer of secrecy. Continuing to do as I always have done would come to seem like secret planning in your eyes.”

“Why would you even want to _exonerate_ yourself?” Hermione asked, back on more familiar ground now. “You despise Muggleborns and ‘blood traitors.’”

“I thought it would be pleasant to understand Harry’s friends more and be able to convince them that Harry is not bonded to an evil lunatic.” Riddle shrugged and turned towards the door. “As it’s wasted effort, I’ll leave.”

“Wait!” Hermione blurted, and shivered in hatred when Riddle glanced over his shoulder at them. She despised sounding so desperate around him. In a just world, _he _would be the one sounding desperate. “I—what are you going to do with us?”

“Not torture you. Leave you here a bit longer. Your meals will be delivered as they have been.” Riddle’s eyes were distant, his head tilted as if he were listening to something. “Then you’ll go on trial.”

“You can’t put us on _trial._”

“Oh, but I can.” Riddle’s voice was low. “Isn’t that what you promised in your letter to Harry? That if you lost the duel, you would go on trial for your crimes?”

“Technically he didn’t win the duel! I didn’t surrender!”

“You never intended to let him win,” Riddle said, and his lips skinned back from his teeth in a feral gesture. “Any more than you left him a choice to fight you with that damn spell that bound his will and pulled him to your side like a Portkey.”

“I—we knew we would need all the people in the Order to win. What I offered him was more honorable than what you do.”

“A chance to live a life that isn’t a fugitive’s? Life with his soulmate?”

“You’re going to _corrupt _him.”

Riddle shrugged. “Many reports from Hogwarts mentioned your intelligence, Miss Granger. I thought about trying to recruit you, but once I found out about your soul-mark, and that you were bound to one of the Weasleys who will probably die trying to oppose me, I didn’t bother.”

Hermione felt herself turn bright red. “So you decided when I was in sixth year, is that it?” she asked loudly. Sixth year was when she had publicly revealed her soul-mark to stop some nasty speculation among the pure-blood students that she didn’t have one because of her Muggle heritage. “Oh, yes, _Minister, _I believe your decision wasn’t based on blood.”

“Oh, that was my final decision. Before that, I had looked at other reports about your stubbornness, and thought that I would probably be wasting my time.”

Riddle gave her a mocking bow and left the room with a slight click of the door. Ron immediately raced over to it and tried it, but then looked at her and shook his head. Hermione closed her eyes and struggled not to cry.

She had always done what she felt was right. She had fought so hard, and lived on the run for so long after Hogwarts, putting her life on hold because she knew she had to to fight against injustice. Well, not that she would have had much of a life in Riddle’s world unless she wanted to accept a vision of herself as inferior.

She didn’t know what she was supposed to do now.

Ron slid his arm around her shoulders. “We’re still going to fight,” he whispered to her, while their emotional bond flared and guttered out like a candle with the wards settled back over the room. “We’ll watch for a chance when they move us. There’s no way they can keep up their guard all the time.”

Hermione nodded slowly. Riddle might be powerful and clever enough to anticipate anything they could do, but not everyone who worked for him could be the same. She leaned harder on Ron and allowed herself to hope.

*

“I understand that you won’t do as the Healers ask and sleep on your stomach. That should be a minor effort, Harry.”

Harry turned his head and scowled at Tom. The white walls of the private Healer’s House around him were nearly as annoying as the peach-colored ones of St. Mungo’s would have been. “Who told?”

“Healer Floyd. I understand that she’s fond of the Galleons the House receives to fund treatment into a cure for lycanthropy.” Tom sat on the chair next to the bed and stared at him. Harry winced as the bond rang around them accusingly.

“Tell me why you won’t sleep on your stomach.”

Harry breathed out slowly. “If I do that, then I won’t be able to stand as easily if someone comes in.” Tom’s gaze still demanded answers, and Harry tossed his head and looked away uneasily. “I feel vulnerable.”

Tom eased forwards and curled his hand around Harry’s wrist. It was his magic, though, that draped over them like the wing of a dragon. Harry sighed and rolled closer to him, his eyes shut. A flicker of heat like a dragon’s tongue touched his cheek.

“That makes sense,” Tom said. “But let me assure you that at the moment, this building is surrounded by the most powerful wards I’m capable of casting, and one of the hydras is lingering to watch over you. I had to reabsorb the other to get some of my magical strength back.”

Harry stirred despite himself. “That means that _you’re _vulnerable, though.”

“I assure you that I am capable of staying in my warded flat and among my Aurors when I’m not with you.”

“The Aurors who have proven to be traitors already?”

“At the moment, I am choosing only those who have made some sort of personal oath of loyalty to me in the last week,” Tom said lightly. “It’s not a usual procedure; their oath is to the office and the Ministry, since Ministers have to be replaced. But at the moment, a temporarily binding vow is a piece of good sense that _everyone _has agreed upon.”

Harry snorted even as he forced himself to lie back down on his stomach. “I’m surprised that you didn’t do something like that already, given that you _don’t _think you should be replaced.”

Tom appeared infinitely smug as he picked up one of the vials Healer Floyd had left for Harry. “It doesn’t do to appear too grasping. It lets the peasants pretend that everything is fine and nothing has changed while the whole world alters around them.”

Harry sighed and sipped half of the vial, ignoring the way the potion clung to the sides of his throat in vast sticky strands like an Acromantula’s web. “They’re not peasants, Tom.”

“I’m afraid that you’ll find it harder than you think to change my perception that most people are beneath me, Harry.”

That was true enough, so Harry abandoned that conversation for the one he’d been too tired to have the last time Tom was here. “What’s going to happen to the Order?”

“Some of them can pay a fine for participating in a forbidden ritual and then leave,” Tom said with a slight turn of his head. “Your friends will go on trial, along with the others who committed more savage crimes at Albus Dumbledore’s instigation.”

Harry breathed out, long and slow. “What’s going to happen to Ron and Hermione?”

“A trial. I told you.”

“In which they’ll be found guilty, and sentenced to Azkaban. I can’t countenance that, Tom, no matter what they did. You don’t punish someone for murder with the loss of their—their _personality._”

“Cheer up. It might be the Kiss, so they’d lose their souls instead.”

Harry leaned forwards a little more, ignoring the way the skin on his back stretched like the potion going down his throat. “Tom, I can’t accept that.”

“I want you to tell me what else you think I should do. If I spared them a trial, then I would be showing our political opponents that my lover influences me to softness, and that makes me weak. If I kept them in prison indefinitely without a trial, I would be accused of suborning justice. If I let them go, they would only continue to work against me. I spoke to them before I came here, Harry, and they are utter fanatics. Granger is so convinced that everything I do is only distraction from my ultimate purpose of launching a genocidal war that I don’t think an angel descending from heaven with proclamations of my innocence would convince her. Dumbledore’s done well with them, I’ll give him that. They’re as bound up in his thoughts and promises as a butterfly in a cocoon.”

Harry was quiet, his eyes on the sheets beneath him. The emotional bond lay as flat as those sheets. Tom had apparently said all he wanted to for now and was waiting for Harry to react.

“Give—give me a chance to talk to them,” Harry said finally.

“If anything you say to them can get through, I’ll be truly impressed.”

“And you’ve been consistently impressed since you knew me,” Harry said, turning on one elbow and ignoring the way Tom hissed at him for pulling at the wound in the middle of is back. “I don’t see why doing this will cost you anything if Ron and Hermione are going to end up in Azkaban anyway.”

Tom raised his eyebrows as slowly as the surprise sang through the bond. “I’m not worried about it costing _me _anything,” he said, and his eyes lingered on the wound.

“Oh.” Harry flushed and cleared his throat. “I promise that I’ll have one of your Auror guards with me at all times.”

“Yes, you will,” Tom said, in a way that said this wasn’t even a promise Harry could make because it would have happened anyway. “I want you to make me another promise.” He leaned across the bed to touch Harry’s cheek with the back of his knuckles.

“What’s that?” Harry’s eyelashes fluttered, and he did his level best to prevent his breathing from doing the same.

“That you’ll withdraw from the conversation the moment they begin to cause you pain.”

Harry started and jerked his eyes open. The bond soured, and Harry sighed and lay down as carefully as he could. He wasn’t used to paying that much attention to his level of discomfort, and certainly not the obsessive level Tom did. “Sorry.”

“Your promise, Harry?”

Harry hesitated for a long moment. “I can’t make it. I mean, it just—friendships cause some level of pain when they’re under this much stress, Tom. It’s just the way it is. If I make that’d promise, then I’d have to step back from Ron and Hermione before we even _talked._”

“Do you think they feel the same way you do?”

“That our friendship is under stress? Of course.”

“That this is a level of unacceptable pain. Or will they attempt to persuade you around to their way of thinking because they are so bloody convinced that they’re right?”

Harry blew out his breath. “I need you to accept that what’s done is done, Tom. Hermione shouldn’t have used that spell, but she did, and she shouldn’t have had people lined up in a ritual to duel me, but she did.” He kept unsaid the fact that Hermione had arranged the ritual when she couldn’t possibly have known Tom would be able to come with him. That indicated a level of foresight targeted at defeating _him _that hurt too much to think about right now. “We need to deal with the consequences, not what we wish could have happened.”

“And one of those consequences is your friends paying the price of their actions.”

“You’re being a hypocrite, Tom.”

“Oh, quite possibly.” Tom smiled, a bright, innocent thing that would have fooled Harry from a picture in the papers, while around him the air hummed with violence. “Tell me what about, specifically.”

“You spared me from the natural consequences of _my _actions when I was an Order spy for years. And you did it before you knew I was your soulmate. You also pardoned my parents and did all but pardon Sirius. There’s no reason that you can’t spare Ron and Hermione the same thing.”

Tom laughed like Sirius barking. “I did that because I made your godfather swear a vow, and your parents accepted a pardon in return for leaving the Order and moving in to a place where I could keep an eye on them. They made _agreements. _Would Weasley or Granger keep those agreements?”

Harry hesitated. “No,” he finally whispered.

“Exactly. They wouldn’t agree to swear a vow, and I can’t trust them because they believe any action is justified, including lying, if it defeats me.” Tom reclined in his chair and watched Harry with calm, weary eyes. “I don’t want to hurt them because I hate them in particular, Harry. I want to hurt them because otherwise they will not _stop_. Unless they are stripped of the ability to act against me.”

Harry remained still, his hands rubbing back and forth in complicated patterns. That lasted until Tom leaned over the bed and let his hand rest on the ridge of Harry’s shoulder, at the edge of the injury. Harry turned and collapsed against him with a soft sigh.

“I think it might be useless,” Harry agreed. “But I have to try.”

“I don’t want you exposed to them.”

“You can’t keep me from pain all my life, Tom.” Harry kissed the back of his hand. “This is pain that I willingly choose to bear, because I might be able to spare myself some more in the future.”

There was a silence long enough that Harry didn’t know if it would make any difference, if Tom would yield. Then he made a disgusted noise and tore his hand away. “You’ll have an hour with them. _Once_. If you can make them listen, the amount of time should be enough. If you can’t, then I won’t have you going back again and again.”

Harry tried to ignore the sick, pounding sensation in his middle that told him Ron and Hermione’s lives and freedom rode on him. In truth, their lives and freedom had been at risk the moment they chose to join the Order of the Phoenix.

And he wasn’t doing this just to try and spare his friends, as much as he would mouth those words and as much as he knew Tom probably believed it.

He was doing this because he needed answers. Even if they hurt.

*

Hermione looked up with a madly pounding heart again as the door opened. Ron was standing behind it, the crystal lamp from the table in his hands. They had agreed their best chance was to stun any Auror who entered the non-magical way. Not that many had training in hand-to-hand combat, Professor Dumbledore had said.

But it was Harry who walked in, and a Harry who was by himself. The door shut instead of spitting in anyone who could have accompanied him. Hermione was so surprised that she just sat and stared with her mouth open.

“Hermione.” Harry gave her a pained smile and glanced towards Ron. Something flashed off his skin, and Hermione blinked. It looked as if he was clad in almost-invisible, brightly-polished chain mail. “Good plan, with a physical strike, but it wouldn’t work. I’m wearing a ward that would bounce it, and so would any Auror who comes in here.”

“Why?” Hermione whispered. Ron sat the lamp carefully back on the table and came over to sit next to her with his arm around her waist.

“Because they’d be visiting a pair of dangerous murderers. Just like I am.”

Hermione gasped because she couldn’t help it. Harry sat down in the chair across from them, the one Riddle had ignored. The room was still dim, except for a glow of sunlight from the edge of the window, but Harry cupped his hand, and blue flames streaked up from his palm.

“How are you doing that?” Hermione whispered. “The duel magically exhausted you.”

“I’ve been resting, and I can call on Tom’s magic. He’s strong.” Harry let his blazing hand rest in his lap. “We’ve completed that part of the bond.”

“Then the world’s doomed,” Hermione said, and closed her eyes to force back _more _tears. She was so bloody sick of crying. Ron leaned harder against her side, but the wards on the room still kept them from feeling each other through the emotional bond.

Maybe that was something she could change. Hermione focused on Harry. “Don’t you think it’s inhumane to separate a prisoner from their soulmate?”

“I’m surprised at you, Hermione. I thought you had no problem with that, given Albus Dumbledore’s tactics against Tom and me.”

Hermione forced herself, _forced _herself, to ignore the poisonous sensation in her throat, as if she was about to swallow a potion that would give someone control over her. “It’s different when the bond has never been consummated.”

“Maybe that’s true. But you aren’t separated from Ron. You simply can’t use his magic and he can’t use yours, and your ability to sense each other’s emotions and thoughts is muted. That’s all.”

“That’s _all_?” Ron burst out. “That’s more inhumane than anything we did to you, Harry!”

“Including nearly killing me with a curse to the back?”

Ron flinched and rubbed the nape of his neck. Hermione shifted closer to him protectively. She knew how guilty he was about that, and that he had thought of almost nothing else except taking Harry out of the battle. She glared at Harry, who was watching them with a painfully neutral expression.

“We know almost nothing about who you really are, do we?” Hermione asked. “You were lying to us all through Hogwarts.”

“Then I feel like we’re on even ground,” Harry said quietly. “I don’t know much about you, either. My best friends would never have done what they’ve done in the name of the _greater good _or bound my will with that spell.”

“It was justified because you were lying to us.”

“What would you say if I told you that this confinement for you is justified because of what you did?”

“It’s not the same thing at all.” Hermione leaned forwards. This was what she had been hoping for, a personal chance to talk to Harry. “We only did what we did in the name of the greater good. But what Riddle’s going to have you do is going to _kill _people, Harry.”

“You killed them, too.”

Hermione sighed. “We were doing this because Riddle is going to cause the genocide of Muggles and Muggleborns, Harry. Riddle will do what he does in the name of his own power.”

Harry was quiet for a few seconds. Then he said, “Did you realize that Tom is the only democratically-elected member of the Wizengamot? The others are Ministry appointees, some of them from past Ministers, or pure-bloods who recommend each other. What did you think would happen when Tom died and someone like Arcturus Black took over the Wizengamot?”

Hermione waved a hand. She had thought Harry would probably say something like this. “The democracy in the wizarding world is corrupt anyway, Harry. It’s the only way someone like Riddle managed to be elected. It wouldn’t be the best outcome possible, but Arcturus Black being in charge of the Wizengamot would be better than Riddle being in charge of it.”

“And do you think Black hates Muggles and Muggleborns less than you’re convinced Tom does?” Harry shook his head slowly. “He proposed and voted for the laws that Tom supported—and which Tom is now going to be changing his support for. No one is going to convince Black otherwise.”

“Yes, but with Riddle gone, the political and magical power necessary to make the future miserable for us is removed,” Hermione said impatiently. Really, she didn’t know why Harry wasn’t _getting _this. He might have hidden his magical power from them at Hogwarts, but she knew he was plenty intelligent enough to understand what she was saying. “The Wizengamot is full of pure-blood infighting. They won’t manage to mount a coordinated attempt to do anything.”

“How do you know that for certain? Especially if one or more of them decided to treat Tom as a martyr and managed to rally everyone behind that?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “_Harry_. They don’t really like or support him. They wouldn’t treat him like a martyr. They despise him for being a half-blood. They only go along with him because he’s doing what they want.”

Harry stared at her. “Hermione. _Listen _to yourself. Tom is powerful and dangerous and a political genius. But everyone hates him and barely stands behind him, and he wouldn’t be missed if he died. Do you think anyone who elected him might miss him? That he doesn’t have any allies who would do their level best to destroy the people who destroyed him?”

“People were _manipulated _into electing him,” Ron pointed out. “They wouldn’t miss him.”

Harry sat back in his chair and watched Ron in silence. Hermione decided that that might mean they were on the verge of convincing him. She kept her voice as gentle as she could while she leaned forwards again. “Harry. Don’t you see? The masses of people are easily manipulated and gullible. But when we free them, they’ll be grateful—”

“Why?”

“Because we’ll have freed them.”

“But are you planning to make some grand pronouncement to tell them how Tom fooled them all?”

Hermione blinked. “Of course not. We can’t—I mean, the Order doesn’t announce its existence that way. We don’t need to. People who know the truth will realize that we worked in the shadows for the good of all humanity.”

“Tell me something. Do you believe Tom has them all under a literal spell that’s going to be removed by his death?”

“No. There’s no kind of enchantment that’s so wide-ranging.” Hermione was sure. When she had first realized how thoroughly Tom Riddle controlled the wizarding world, she had researched to see if there was. But she had come to the conclusion that there wasn’t, and it was simply the wizarding public’s depressing stupidity that let Riddle retain control.

“Then why do you think they’re suddenly going to wake up and realize the truth when they elected him in the first place and you’re not going to tell them anything?”

Hermione hesitated. There was a trap here, but she couldn’t see where it was coming from.

“Anyone ought to be able to see how terrible Riddle is,” Ron said, his face flushing. “Unless they’re brainwashed into thinking Riddle is capable of _love._”

Harry folded his hands in his lap. “I’m only asking you to think about it from a logical perspective. How is anyone going to realize the truth if Tom is widely-respected and no one _knows _the truth? How can he control everyone so well as to force them to elect him, and yet be so incompetent as to cause them unparalleled relief when he’s gone? How is the Order’s perspective going to become everyone’s perspective if you don’t spread it?”

Hermione clenched her hands slowly. The words sort of made sense, but she _had _to resist them, because Harry was speaking them and she knew he had been tainted by Riddle. “With him gone, everything will be better, Harry. You can’t deny that.”

“Of course I can. You know what will happen to cripple my mind and soul if he’s gone.”

Hermione sighed. “You’re just seeing it too much as an individual. It’s tragic that you were marked as his, but if we have to sacrifice a soulmate bond—”

“What would happen if I asked you to sacrifice your bond with Ron?”

“There’s no need to ask for that,” Ron said, tightening his hand on her arm. “We aren’t _evil._”

“Oh?” Harry whispered. “But from Tom’s perspective, you are. And the papers are starting to spread all sorts of things, based on very few interviews with him in which he offered only bare facts. They’re saying that you’re so entrenched in Dumbledore’s nonsense that there’s no saving you, and you should be killed to spare the world from what you would do if you escaped. Trying to murder the Minister’s soulmate and potentially drive him mad has done you no favors in the wider wizarding world’s eyes.”

Hermione felt a huge jolt under her breastbone. She had never once considered that the public would turn on them. “That’s not true!”

“Why is it true in my case? And Tom’s?”

“He’s _evil_!”

Harry sighed in what sounded like exhaustion. “The problem, Hermione, is that you don’t have a rational argument about that. You’re not even prepared to make those arguments. You just think that everyone should see it from your point-of-view without an explanation.” He stood up. “It’s perfectly logical to make the argument that Tom is evil. You could have done it by pointing to his voting record. But you’re so convinced that everyone should just believe what you do and your own actions are justified that you didn’t do that. And now half the wizarding public is convinced that you’re a terrorist and wants you dead, and the others are calling for your imprisonment in Azkaban.” He took out a paper from his pocket and handed it to her.

Hermione unfolded it and stared at it. The front had a photograph of her and Ron the day they had graduated from Hogwarts, draped in bright red and gold robes and smiling. But the headline said, MUGGLEBORN TERRORIST CAPTURED AT LAST!

Hermione skimmed the article. Phrases jumped out at her like pure-bloods out of an ambush.

…_brightest witches to graduate…influenced heavily by Albus Dumbledore…soulmated to a pure-blood she persuaded to rebel…raided the Department of Mysteries…_

“They’re twisting it,” she whispered, and stared at Harry, wondering how he could stand there in front of her with dry eyes when he had to know what this could lead to. “This _isn’t _the way it happened!”

Harry shrugged. “You weren’t making the arguments to convince them otherwise, Hermione. You were hiding in the shadows and striking from them. Killing people that most people are convinced were innocent.”

“The Unspeakables weren’t—”

“But you didn’t publish the reason you went after them,” Harry said, his voice sharp and pitiless. His eyes were terrible. “You just committed the crime and then ran away. No public trial, no pamphlets that gave the Order’s side distributed.”

“We had to do it that way, though,” Ron whispered, taking over because Hermione’s throat had clogged and she could say nothing at all. “If we handed out pamphlets and so on, then they would have suspected Professor Dumbledore’s involvement. His public image would have been compromised.”

Harry snorted. “So you gave up your freedom and your normal lives and even your attempts to persuade people to join your cause to protect his apparent innocence? That’s just rich.”

“We—we had to do it that way,” Hermione said, but her voice was wavering and she hated it. Her eyes remained on the headline. She knew Riddle controlled the papers, of course everyone knew that, but at least one person—who wasn’t Rita Skeeter—had written this story. She knew it wasn’t Riddle. She knew his writing style. “It was imperative that Professor Dumbledore remain uncompromised.”

“Why? How did he assist the Order’s cause? He didn’t even really speak up against Tom’s interference in Hogwarts, but he told me more than once that he hated it.”

Hermione shook her head. She had been so _sure _that other people understood the rightness of their cause. And why should they have to speak up to defend themselves? The people on the right side didn’t.

“Dumbledore’s sacrificed all of you so that he could keep playing at being Headmaster of Hogwarts,” Harry said. “He hasn’t come forwards now, either, even though Tom said that he’s to be arrested if found and not cursed on sight. He spent years recruiting people who came through Hogwarts for the Order. That was more important to him than actually explaining what the hell you stood for.”

Hermione dropped the paper on the stool next to her. “Harry, _you _know that we have a point! You said that you could easily think of Riddle as evil just from his voting record. Why do you—”

“Because even if I wanted to defend you, you’ve made it really fucking hard, you _nutters_!” Harry shouted, and Hermione fell silent in shock. She never, ever remembered him yelling at them like this in Hogwarts. “You bound me with a spell to force me to duel, and then you had dozens of people waiting to feed you magic in a _forbidden _ritual! Ron cursed me in the back! Tom wants to _destroy _you. He would have been happy to just see you arrested and tried for your original crime, but _this_? He wants you _dead._”

“Casualties of war,” Hermione whispered. “It was justified.”

“You haven’t even convinced the average person that there _is _a war,” Harry snapped. “They don’t know what you’re fighting for! They’re caught up in the romance of the Minister who’s gone partner-less for so long finding his soulmate at last, and they like that I’m powerful and dueled Lestrange to a standstill in the middle of Diagon Alley, too. They hate you. Yank your self-serving heads out of your arses and stop thinking everything you do is perfectly obvious and everyone will rally to you because you’re the _good ones. _Use that logic you’re so fond of, Hermione. If Tom controls the wizarding world, perfectly, and has pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes regarding this supposed war, why would anyone support you?”

“Professor Dumbledore said—said that everyone would understand once Riddle was dead.” But the words tasted of ashes as Hermione repeated them.

“Yeah, well, he’s a nutter, too,” Harry snapped, and turned to face the door. “Listen to me. I’ll save as much of your lives and freedom as I can. But after that, if there’s anything of you left, then you’re going to have to _work _to free Muggleborns. Not commit romantic crimes and spout that rot about sacrifice and the greater good and casualties of war. And if you ever tell me again that someone else is _evil _and that means you’re justified in whatever you do to them, then I’ll let Tom do whatever he wants with you.”

The door slammed. Hermione sank slowly onto the bed, and felt Ron trembling as he tucked his arm around her.

“He’s the nutter,” Ron whispered. “Going over to Riddle like that.”

Hermione shook her head slowly, eyes locked on the paper. She felt like she’d been hit with a Stunner that had awakened her instead of dumping her asleep. “No, Ron, he’s right.”

“What? About Riddle being—”

“No. About the way that we’re coming across to the public.” Hermione folded the paper up again and lowered her face into her hands. “I mean—it’s not _right. _But Riddle does control the wizarding world. It’s full of sheep that will follow anyone. We were stupid to think that the righteousness of our actions would proclaim the righteousness of our cause without trying harder to express those views in public.”

“So what are we going to do?”

The word stung her throat, but Hermione forced it out. “Compromise.”


	21. Before

“You had a bad time?”

Harry tore his cloak from his shoulders and flung it in the general direction of the bed, swearing. Tom watched, although the tension of the emotional bond between them made him want to go to Harry. He had to let him work through this on his own, though.

Besides, he rather wanted to hear what Harry had to say about his _dear _friends.

“They sit there and look at me as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths!” Harry spun on his heel and kicked the bed. Blue flames ignited along his shoulder blades and stretched out into glittering, spectral shapes that reached for the ceiling. Tom kept his own delight still so it wouldn’t interrupt Harry’s rant. “They just tell me that you’re evil and everything will be better when you’re dead as if—as if they really _believe _it!”

“I think they do,” Tom said mildly. “After all, they literally grew up hearing Albus Dumbledore say such things.”

“But—people aren’t just _evil_,” Harry said, and kicked the bed again. “Stubborn and stupid and gullible and prejudiced, sure. But that isn’t the same as being a monster of hatred who just rejoices in it!”

“There must be a purpose in telling them that I’m evil. What was it?”

Harry closed his eyes for a second, although Tom knew that wasn’t so much an attempt to concentrate as a necessary struggle with his temper. Their bond was brilliant with the red and gold fire of it. Then Harry exhaled and opened his eyes again. “They would think anything was justified against someone who was actually evil.”

Tom nodded. “And I think Albus perhaps does believe it. But spreading the notion around serves the purpose of keeping their loyalty rooted to him.”

“They—I thought they were smarter than that, though. Hermione in particular.”

“Did I tell you why I decided against recruiting her into the Ministry?”

“Her being a fanatic for the Order and soul-bonded to Ron had to have something to do with it,” Harry said dryly, and flopped down in the chair next to Tom. Tom stroked his hair for a second, a little disappointed that he wouldn’t get more of the rant.

“Yes, it did, but her stubbornness was something I got reports on from every single one of her professors. Even Minerva McGonagall, and in general, she was extremely partial to the girl. Granger had trouble changing her mind about _anything_. When a Defense professor arrived who taught silent casting in a different way than the one you had in your sixth year, she filed a complaint with Minerva stating that Professor Delacruz’s way was ‘objectively wrong’ and would cause students to fail their NEWTS.”

Harry stared at him from a slightly upside-down position. “But that’s—Professor Delacruz was a great teacher! I mean, Professor Belrose was all right, not terrible, but I understand why you replaced her.”

Tom smiled a little. At least Harry had come to accept the degree of Tom’s control over Hogwarts, it sounded like, in a way that Albus never had. “Yes. Professor Belrose had become too complacent in her post, and too focused on teaching in a way that was _good enough _without challenging the students. I knew Professor Delacruz would provide a challenge, and a truer method of preparation for your NEWTS.”

“I had no idea Hermione made that complaint. I thought she liked Professor Delacruz.”

“She was respectful enough to her in public, I’m sure,” Tom said, with a shrug. “But yes, she did it because the Defense books and Professor Belrose had convinced her there was one and only one way to approach silent casting. I don’t think she ever changed her mind, either. I saw the optional essay she wrote for her Defense NEWT. She was allowed to choose her own topic, and she wrote about how the method of visualization was the ‘perfect’ way to silently cast and Professor Delacruz’s method of separating incantation and wand movement was ‘dangerously backward.’”

Harry groaned a little and rubbed his eyes. “So basically, whoever gets to Hermione first convinces her of something.”

Tom nodded. “To be honest, she might not ever have wanted to work with me because of the game I was playing with the pure-bloods, but I had already decided against approaching her before her sixth year. She’s self-righteous and too convinced that whatever appeals to her is objectively correct.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re going to be allowed to continue this _game _without challenges, Tom.”

Tom smiled a little at the glint in Harry’s eyes and the way the flames had started burning up the sides of their bond. “I know that. And I welcome any challenge you want to make to me. But my point is, I don’t think she’ll change her mind because the lies Dumbledore spun for her appeal to her. This way, she gets to be the hero, someone who’s discriminated against for her blood and fighting an unfairly bigoted world. It’s hard to give up that rush. I know. I used to be prey to it.”

“_You_?”

Tom inclined his head. “Remember that I was in her position during my first years at Hogwarts, before I discovered that I was a Slytherin by blood.”

The way Harry stared at him with slightly parted lips created an invitation that Tom was hard-pressed to ignore, but he managed in favor of smiling at his soulmate and stroking his hair back from his face. Harry finally sighed and muttered, “I find it hard to believe that you would have ever wanted to think of yourself as a hero.”

Tom shrugged. “It can be addictive. And you forget. It’s the pose that’s sustained me in the Ministry, pretending that I care about people who others see as disadvantaged or in need of protection.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “I want you to start changing that, Tom.”

“Certainly, my dear. Imagine a viable political strategy that I can use instead, and explain it to me. After all, the reason I chose the pure-bloods is not because I believe in their bigotry, but because they hold the power. What do Muggleborns have to offer me?”

Harry’s lips parted again, but Tom didn’t think he was staring at him in surprise this time. “That’s…_cold, _Tom.”

“You’re startled, darling?” Tom slipped his hand around the back of Harry’s neck and brought him closer, but from the way Harry resisted, glaring at him, he wasn’t going to get such an easy kiss this time. Tom sighed mournfully and released him. “You have a privileged view of me. I never normally show this much emotion to my Aurors, or my public, or the people who have voted with me in the Wizengamot.”

“You don’t say your allies.”

“I have few allies,” Tom said simply. “Madam Moonwell perhaps comes closest because we understand each other. But the others are tools who foolishly think they wield me instead of the other way around.”

“Why did you adopt that kind of perspective?”

Tom hesitated, but Harry’s hand was on his arm, and the blue flames springing up between them weren’t the kind caused by Harry’s anger anymore. Tom still closed his eyes as he spoke, because watching Harry’s face while he said this wasn’t in his power.

“I thought that perhaps my soulmate bond had been destroyed when my soul-mark was burnt. It took me a while to figure out that wasn’t the way it worked. Ignorant children aren’t the best companions for someone suffering that kind of doubt. And then when I discovered that so few people had any sympathy for me, and that my soulmate might be the kind of person who would be horrified by what I had done as vengeance, I decided that I _couldn’t _care. I separated myself from the world.

“I told myself that either my soulmate would never come to me because of their disgust and fear, or that when they did, they would understand what I’d done. And I could use the power I’d accumulate to protect them if they did ever reveal themselves. Either way, I had nothing to lose by holding onto that kind of cold arrogance. It protected me. It might protect them. No one else would.”

*

_God. He felt so abandoned by the world. _

Tom had been leaning on him with his eyes averted, shut, but Harry couldn’t let him keep being that way. He kissed him, and Tom started and turned towards him. Harry opened Tom’s lips with his tongue and kept kissing him until Tom had given up that stiff posture and embraced him, bending him back over the arm of the chair.

Harry finally loosened his hold on Tom’s mouth when it was that or start swooning like a teenager. He stroked his hand down Tom’s chest and said softly, “You don’t need to do that anymore.”

“You’re going to swoop in like a hero and make everything better, is that it?”

“I am a Gryffindor,” Harry said, but he wasn’t smiling as he reached up and cupped Tom’s jaw gently. “No. I think we’ve had enough of heroes. What I want to show you is that you can be human with me. And that means I can help protect you and let you be human in front of those bastards on the Wizengamot, too.”

Tom blinked once, his eyelashes barely shadowing his intense gaze. “Don’t mistake me, Harry. I’ll be changing because you want me to, not because this is the best thing to do or you’ve awakened some sense of principle in me.”

“I know.” Harry sucked in air that felt more like fire. “I think I’m finally ready to accept that.”

“You are?” Tom’s hand curled around his arm.

Harry nodded. “Tom, you’re not innocent, and I want you to change. If you weren’t willing at _all_, I’d have to walk away, no matter how much I loved you.”

Tom made a soft little sound in Parseltongue, his hand still in place and his eyes wide in a specific way that said he would have tried to prevent that.

“But you are,” Harry said softly, not looking away from him. “And I don’t want to do what Dumbledore did—abandon you because you aren’t perfect and you don’t fit some vision I have of the way you should act. In Dumbledore’s case, you didn’t fit his notion of an innocent victim, because you were a Slytherin or not a pure-blood or you were angry about what happened—_I _don’t know. I won’t make his mistake. You’re not my vision, but you’re mine.”

The way Tom’s eyes lit up made Harry feel as though he could fly without a broom. He kissed Tom again, but eased back with a shake of his head when Tom tried to pull them both onto a couch.

“We have to imagine that viable political strategy you challenged me to come up with. And that means we have to have it in place before Ron and Hermione’s trial.”

“You’re determined to release them, aren’t you?” Tom’s hands tightened for a second, and then he leaned back with a resigned sigh and stared at Harry with his eyes cold and bright.

“I would like it if I could,” Harry said quietly. “But there’s no way—they would work against me and you even then, and be convinced that they were doing the right thing. So it can’t happen.”

“Then tell me how you envision their trial going.”

“With a Truth Crystal in every corner of the room.”

Tom stared at him with blank incomprehension, instead of the vicious delight Harry would have anticipated. Harry frowned and poked him in the shoulder. “A Truth Crystal? Those devices that Dumbledore used to make sure people were telling the truth before he admitted them to the Order? The spies you captured must have told you about them.”

“No,” Tom whispered. “Not one of them has mentioned them. You are—sure these Truth Crystals exist?”

“Yes.” Harry leaned further back in the circle of Tom’s arms, more than a little baffled. He would have bet that the Truth Crystals were ancient inventions. The ones that Dumbledore used had seemed that way, with dirty golden bases that curled around the globes of faceted crystal inside them. “They stand in the corner of a room, and they ensure that people who come into that room can only speak the truth. The more you have, the stricter the truth is. Just one Crystal means that people can still avoid answering questions or keep silence; they just can’t lie about something they know to be true. If you have two, they can only keep silence for a few minutes before they get pushed to answer. If you have three, they can’t avoid a question, either. If you have four, they have to add their own thoughts to the question, things the question makes them think of.”

“I have never heard of them,” Tom breathed, his hands settling low on Harry’s hips. Harry twitched a little, distracted despite himself. Tom gave him a daring smile. “Where do you think they came from?”

“Well, I don’t think Dumbledore made them,” Harry said. “They looked too old for that, and he never said anything about it. Maybe they’re something that the Headmasters know about? Sort of something they inherited from the Founders?”

“We have to correct your stumbling manner of speech,” Tom scolded him, but his eyes were already bright with thought. “Would you be able to point to their hiding place if I took you to Hogwarts?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know where he kept them. I only saw them when he was questioning Mum and Dad or other people about things and when he inducted me into the Order.”

“He didn’t trust even his most faithful servants?”

“I haven’t told you what five of the Crystals do,” Harry whispered, and reveled in the way Tom fell silent, his eyes widening and darkening. He sat back with a smile and continued, “The fifth one forces people to work past Memory Charms and biases—basically, anything that blocks the truth they suspect or know to be true.”

“So he used them to make his spies more effective reporters.” Tom’s hand was like a shackle on Harry’s hip, not that Harry minded. “He started working on you young, didn’t he?”

Harry nodded, not inclined to dispute it now. He was still sure that Dumbledore sincerely believed that Tom was evil and he was acting out of the best reasons, but that didn’t excuse what he had done. “He wanted all of us—all of the Gryffindor students he chose for the Order—to believe that he was all-powerful and his cause was all-important.”

“Didn’t he choose anyone else for the Order/”

“All the other students didn’t become full, inducted members of the Order. They’re on the margins, and sometimes they send reports, but they’re not like me and Ron and Hermione.”

“And other Gryffindors that he inducted over the years. Like your parents.”

Harry nodded and stretched his arms over his head, reveling, this time, in the greedy way that Tom’s eyes traced over his muscles and lingered on his shoulders. “But while I can’t tell you where he hides the Truth Crystals, I _can _tell you that I can make one.”

Tom’s face snapped into a mask for a moment, and then he shook his head lightly. “I should have known. You’re more powerful than you let anyone else know, and you had enough exposure to the Crystals to duplicate them, didn’t you?”

Harry nodded, thinking of some of those sessions in the Headmaster’s office. Most of the other Gryffindors, with the exception of Ron and Hermione, had thought that Harry kept getting into trouble and that for some reason, Dumbledore preferred to handle his detentions personally. “There often wasn’t a lot to do. Some of the Order’s maneuvers flew over my head when I was that young, and I—I didn’t like to listen when they started talking about you.”

“They did that in front of you?”

Harry swallowed and nodded. “I think it was Dumbledore’s way of trying to toughen me. Of reminding me what I would be up against if I did try to claim you as mine.”

“He did it so perfectly,” Tom said, and his voice would have sounded pleasant if someone was across the room from him and couldn’t feel the way his muscles tensed or his magic sparked up around his body. “I sometimes wonder, though, why he didn’t simply kill you when he saw your mark.”

Harry sighed. “I think he thought he was being moral. Or maybe he did plan to use me as a chain on you. If so, I don’t know how.”

Tom nodded and sat in silence for a moment. Then he shook his head. “If you are going to use those Truth Crystals in your friends’ trial, you should start creating them as soon as possible. Their trial is set to begin next week.”

Harry nodded. “And of course you aren’t going to let me do it today.”

“I’m not going to _let _you?”

“I’m magically rattled from seeing Ron and Hermione,” Harry admitted, and wasn’t surprised when the hand on his hip grew even heavier. “I didn’t think it would be that hard, but it—really was. I couldn’t reconcile my friends with the people sitting in front of me. If you’d asked me two days ago, I would have said that they were loyal to each other first, then me, then Dumbledore and the Order. It hurts that I’m third. If that.”

Tom cupped his cheek and nodded. “And you’ll need a trance as calm and clear as the Truth Crystals to create them, of course. That’s understandable.”

“How did you know that?” Harry breathed. Of course it was true, but he had never shared the insights he had gained from letting his magic lick around the Truth Crystals with anyone. How had Tom _guessed_?

Tom smiled at him. “I think our mental bond is beginning to form.” He kissed Harry and eased him gently to his feet. “And now we should call a house-elf and have a meal, and I should send you to bed, before we become distracted by more pleasurable pursuits.” He paused. “How are you going to convince the Wizengamot to let us introduce the Truth Crystals at trial?”

“We’ll tell them part of the truth, that they’re artifacts Dumbledore has been using,” Harry said. “But then we’ll imply that you seized them from him, since after all, you’ll have to go to the school and look it over for damage anyway.”

Tom grimaced. “True.” And in the back of Harry’s mind tingled something like a thought, mingled with Tom’s sour distaste, that said he would probably have to change some professors as well.

Harry smiled as a house-elf popped in with a tray of broth and bread (which he was going to be able to forgive Tom for, easily). He couldn’t wait for their mental bond to fully form. Or their sexual one.

He felt a flutter of desire at that that he couldn’t quell. Tom glanced at him with dark eyes, and spent the rest of the meal teasing him by feeding him and stroking Harry’s arm with his fingers, so lightly that the hair on Harry’s arm stood up under the caress.

It didn’t help Harry sleep better, at first, when he went to bed, but after twenty or so minutes of lying there, Tom appeared next to the bed holding a small crystal flask of swirling lilac potion.

“Diluted Dreamless Sleep,” Tom explained quietly, holding it out.

Harry grasped it eagerly and swallowed it. A few seconds later, the world turned inside out and drew down crystal shutters, and he slept.

*

“They beat you, didn’t they?”

Albus did his best to glare at Gellert, but his heart wasn’t in it. He collapsed on the bench near the back of the cave and closed his eyes. His chest ached, and he honestly wasn’t sure if that was the magical exhaustion or the sheer, bloody urge to cry.

“Why did they beat you?”

“The dirty serpent magic that Riddle drew on,” Albus said tiredly. “I didn’t anticipate it. I can understand Parseltongue, but I can’t study the books that detail that sort of thing, not when Salazar Slytherin left them locked to natural-born Parselmouths.”

Gellert snorted and rolled over so that he was facing the back of the cave. “You only think it’s a dirty trick because you wish you’d thought of it yourself. If you were a Parselmouth, you’d be talking about the purity of the power and how Riddle was the one who degraded it.”

“I would not,” Albus snapped, stung. “I think serpent magic was degraded by the fact that Salazar Slytherin spoke it, and Slytherin turned his back on his destiny.”

“Destiny?” Gellert spoke without turning over, but Albus felt the faint prick of his curiosity. “You’ve never mentioned that before.”

Albus grimaced and slumped against the bench, trying to ignore the sense of failure in the back of his mind. “I should not have mentioned it now.”

“As you say,” Gellert said, his voice sinking again. “But now you have a problem to deal with in that Riddle and Potter are united. What else are you going to try?”

Albus took a long, shaky breath. There was one obvious answer, and he had avoided it because he didn’t want to look weak to the one who had shown him his life’s purpose. But right now, weakness and pride were irrelevant considerations. He had to appeal for help, because stopping Tom and Harry was more important than anything else.

For a moment, tears shivered in his eyes. _Where did I go so wrong with Harry? Why did I fail to teach him what his friends absorbed so easily_?

But that question didn’t matter, either. Albus reached up and removed a small vial of colored dust from the shelf in the cave where it had stood for decades. He reached out and sprinkled the dust on the fire in front of him.

The dust rose up in a column of subtle rose, brilliant blue, and trembling orange. Albus sat back with his arms folded around his legs and waited as patiently as he could. Even Gellert had rolled over so that he could stare, although he snorted and glanced in the other direction when Albus turned to him.

The fire drew Albus’s attention. The flames curled and swayed, and he found himself thinking that they looked like the gate of an elaborate house, decorated with gables and roundels and porticos and…

_Why did you call my attention?_

The phoenix that loomed above him was the same one that had brought him the prophecy, Albus was sure of it. He took a long breath and looked the phoenix in the eye. “Because the Dark Lord has joined with his soulmate, and my efforts to keep them apart were in vain. I need to know what I should do next.”

The phoenix launched itself silently from the fire, hovering for a moment in the air before settling on the floor of the cavern. Gellert caught his breath with a sharp gasp. The phoenix ignored him and instead arched its neck to stare directly into Albus’s eyes.

Albus watched and waited in silence. He had never received a sense of the phoenix’s sex from it, although he had known the first time he met Fawkes that he was male. He supposed that if this agent of fate wanted him to know, it would tell him.

_You know that this will change the world._

Albus grimaced and nodded. “But I have done my best to lure Harry back with his friends, to appeal to the beliefs I thought I’d instilled in him, and to break his emotional bond with Riddle. Nothing worked. I am a hunted fugitive now since I showed myself so openly with the Order at our last confrontation. I need advice.”

The phoenix took a step back, scarlet breast feathers glittering in sharp contrast with the rest of its body, which was ice-blue. For a moment, Albus thought it was looking at Gellert, but it seemed to be staring through the wall of the cavern instead, out and far beyond anything present with them.

Then it turned back to Albus. _There must be exceptions made for desperation. No matter what you have to do, kill this one born with the Dark Lord’s soul-mark._

“I don’t know how to get close to him. He’ll be surrounded by a guard of Aurors day and night now—”

The phoenix moved one foot, and something fell to the floor as if it had always been clutched in the talon, although Albus didn’t think it had. In silent bewilderment, he picked up and stared at what looked like a tuning fork. He glanced back at the phoenix, who bobbed its head as if understanding what Albus’s questions were.

_Use this like your Imperius Curse. Send it to someone close to the pair, and it will resonate with your mind and replace their desires with yours. You can only use it once, only with simple commands, and not on the Dark Lord or his consort. Choose wisely._

Albus took a slow, long breath. There was only one real choice, when he thought about it like that. “Thank you.”

The phoenix said, _Do not thank me. I am only an agent of fate. _And it turned and flew back into the fire that had simmered down but never stopped burning. In seconds, the vision of a shining palace gate collapsed and was gone.

“How can you trust that thing?”

Albus sighed and glanced at Gellert. “Phoenixes are the purest creatures of Light on the planet, Gellert. I can understand why _you _might never feel easy with one, but they have only the. best of intentions.” He curled his hand around the silvery tuning fork, which hummed responsively in his palm. Instinctively, he raised his Occlumency walls to forbid the thing from reaching for his mind the way it wanted to do.

“The phoenix didn’t say it served the Light. It said it served Fate.”

Albus shrugged. “But it sought me out to give the prophecy, it spoke of Dark Lords, and legends and lore the world over say that phoenixes are of the Light. I think I’ll trust a phoenix more than your doubts about it, thank you.”

*

“You’re sure that you’re rested enough to do this?”

Harry chuckled and reached over to pat Tom’s cheek. “You’re sweet.”

Tom dodged, scowling, and watched as Harry walked into the middle of the field he had asked Tom to bring him to. It was a wide meadow at the edge of a private house Tom had claimed as dueling spoils from a pure-blood who had challenged him early on in his Ministry career.

There were small piles of glass shards on the ground. Tom had offered more “ingredients” for the Truth Crystals, but Harry had shaken his head and said he didn’t need them. Tom wondered if that was true.

Harry closed his eyes and stood still for a few minutes. It was a cloudy day, a freshening wind sweeping in from the south and ruffling the grass and Harry’s hair alike. Tom wanted to conjure a cloak for his soulmate, but he had promised not to interrupt once Harry began.

And Harry considered taking care of him an interruption. Against his will, Tom’s gaze sought the ragged edges of the healed wound under his shirt.

Then Harry spun to the side, tugging on Tom’s magic without absorbing it, and began.

His hands rose above his head, and he murmured something that Tom was certain wasn’t a Latin incantation. He knew Harry couldn’t actually speak Parseltongue, but it sounded remarkably like that. Harry raised his hands further and then dropped them, and his voice trembled on a sharp note.

Tom felt the immense power around them shift.

And he saw what Harry had meant when he said he needed nothing more than glass to conjure the Truth Crystals.

The glass soared into the air and _bent _instead of breaking, forming round globes. From beneath the globes, Harry’s magic erupted, spiraling down into legs that looked rather like the clawed feet of the furniture Tom’s grandparents had possessed. They were ornamented, heavy gold. Harry spun on his heel as if he was about to Apparate, and more magic showered the globes.

They began to shine.

Tom stared. He had never heard of any magic like this, as Harry focused it and poured it, and he doubted he would ever have discovered it on his own. Harry wrung his hands sharply as if breaking an enemy’s neck, and the same shine coalesced around his fingers.

Tom blinked. It was translucent, wavering, pearly colored, and reminded him of nothing so much as the color of Veritaserum. He wondered if somehow, both the potion and the Truth Crystals were drawing on the same deep magic, something no one else had remembered lately.

The light abruptly snapped away from Harry’s hands and took up residence in the Crystals. Harry sagged to his knees in the next moment, but the light didn’t stop flowing from him. Tom stared in wonder until he heard the sharp, shallow breaths from Harry’s direction.

“Cancel the spell,” he said, taking a long step forwards and no longer worrying about interrupting. “_Now._”

Harry nodded, but not as if he was agreeing with Tom. “This isn’t a spell,” he said, even as he drew his hands level with his throat and the light stopped flowing from him. He still didn’t sound normal, though. “This is creation.”

“I don’t care what it is, it’s not worth your _life._”

“So sweet and adorable,” Harry said, smiling at him over his shoulder. “Do your enemies know about this side of you? They must not, or they would have been getting you kittens and flowers for years now.”

Tom gripped Harry’s arm and leaned towards him. “_I know something that will wipe that smile from your face,_” he hissed, and hated the way Harry grinned at him. “_I’ll take you back to the Healing House and keep you there for the rest of the month.”_

Harry narrowed his eyes at him and tried to move away, but not only was Tom’s grip too high, Harry had exhausted himself _again. _“You couldn’t persuade the Healing House to take me for a month! I wasn’t that badly-wounded.”

“_Did you know that magical exhaustion coming on top of a wound can be damaging? Not to mention all the years that you kept your magic secret at Hogwarts and suppressed it, and the late development of the soulmate bond. They would love to keep you and heal you in-depth. Several of them were talking about it._”

Harry scowled at him. “I know you’re telling the truth because of the damn Crystals,” he muttered. “I—need to be there when they try Ron and Hermione, Tom. I _have _to.”

Tom stroked Harry’s arm and enjoyed the sensation of pleasure zinging through the bond and the way that gooseflesh followed the motion of his hand. “I understand that,” he said. “But you’ll do as I say when it comes to your health.”

“The Crystals are important.”

“Not more important than you.”

Harry’s mouth fell open, and he blinked. Tom stared back at him, wondering what unusual revelation have come to Harry now. It seemed he was always coming up with some unique angle that Tom would never have thought of.

“You really mean that.”

“Of course I do.”

“I—there just haven’t been many times when someone thought I was worth more than other things in their lives,” Harry breathed, and reached out to cup Tom’s chin and draw him near for a kiss.

Tom went, smug beyond belief. He had a partner who could create things like Truth Crystals out of pure magic, after intuiting the principles behind how they worked merely by being in the same room with them. He had persuaded that partner to listen to him instead of exhausting himself further the way Tom was sure Harry would have liked to.

And he was the one who was bonding Harry closer than any magic could, simply by valuing him the way he should be valued.

_Let everyone in the world envy me. It would still not be enough to match what Harry is worth.  
_


	22. Bonds

Hermione looked up as the door of their room opened and Harry walked in. She was pleased to note that no Aurors came with him this time, either—well, she was pleased until Riddle stepped in behind him and shut the door firmly with a halfway pleasant smile on his face.

That, of course, meant he would be a complete berk, Hermione knew.

“We wanted to speak to you,” Riddle began.

Harry sent him an annoyed look, and Riddle shut his mouth and stepped away with his hands folded behind his back. Hermione blinked. It looked almost as if Harry had _made _Riddle do something he didn’t want to do, like shut up during the conversation, but Hermione already knew that couldn’t be right. No one made the Minister do anything he didn’t want to do, and Professor Dumbledore had explained many times to her and Ron that they couldn’t encourage Harry to bond with Riddle in the hopes that he could control him, because not even a soulmate bond was powerful enough to overcome the darkness Riddle had steeped himself in.

“Yes, we did,” Harry said. “Your trial is next week. I wanted to tell you that I’ve done my best to make sure that you get a fair trial.”

Hermione shook her head. “We’re prepared to compromise, Harry.”

Harry paused. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said a second later in a neutral tone. “But how? I’m very aware that your oaths to Dumbledore and the Order prevent you from telling any of their secrets.”

“Ron and I are prepared to swear that we’ll use legal methods to fight Riddle from now on.” Ron nodded firmly at Hermione’s side, and she tried to ignore the crawling unnaturalness that was not knowing how he felt through their emotional bond. “We won’t betray the Order, but we won’t rejoin them.” She thought there probably wouldn’t be anything to rejoin, anyway. Professor Dumbledore was on the run now, and most of the Order’s more powerful members had been with them at the ritual that was meant to subdue Harry. “You don’t have to worry about us staging a raid on the Department of Mysteries again.”

Harry stared at her. Hermione swallowed as she felt a swift prickling move down her neck. This shouldn’t be as hard as it seemed. Why was Harry just _staring _instead of thanking them?

Riddle hissed something. Harry shook his head. “No, they really don’t understand.”

Hermione bit her lip. Against everything else Harry had been keeping from them, that he could understand Parseltongue was such a small secret, but it still stung.

“What don’t we understand?” Ron demanded. “We know that if you put us on trial, you could have a revolt on your hands.”

Riddle abruptly turned away and walked to the far side of the room. Hermione blinked. His shoulders were shaking as if he were biting back cries of rage. She turned to Harry to explain it, and found him staring at his hands.

“Harry?”

Harry started and looked up at them, shaking his head a little. “Honestly, you two. What you don’t understand is that you have _no power_ in this situation.”

“Yes, we do! We have the secrets and we could—”

“Secrets that you either can’t or won’t betray. Dumbledore has been removed as Headmaster of Hogwarts.” Hermione felt as though a meteorite had hit her in the stomach, but Harry kept going, with no time for her to absorb that information. “And the public isn’t going to come to your aid because they _hate you._”

“That’s just Riddle’s manipulation of public opinion, mate.” Ron tapped his fingers on his knee. “Once you explain that we’re your best friends and some about the Order’s reasons, then we’ll be hailed as heroes.”

“I _told you before, _you waited too long to make the Order’s position clear because you just assumed everybody would already know what you were about.” Harry’s voice was low and intense. “They hate you now. If you were smart, you wouldn’t have gone with Dumbledore’s nonsense about a secret war that’s so hard to prove, anyway. You would have looked up Tom’s voting record and drawn attention to that. You would have pointed out how hypocritical it is of him to be a half-blood and yet favor pure-bloods. But now it’s too late, and he has a grip on the public’s throat.”

“That’s true,” Riddle said over his shoulder. He sounded pleasant again.

“But we could still stage a raid on the Department of Mysteries,” Hermione said. She tried to speak more slowly this time, despite the clawing bewilderment that had taken her over. Harry was just staring at her with hard eyes, and how _could _he? Why was it taking so long to convince him?

“You’ll be in prison,” Harry said. “Or, if you don’t go to Azkaban, bound by loyalty oaths of the kind that render you unable to do that.”

“We’re going to be free, though.”

Harry leaned forwards. “What made you think that?”

He seemed to be waiting for something in particular, but Hermione had no idea what was going on and what he expected her to say, so she kept silent. Ron was the one who said, “Because you’re going to get us out. Aren’t you?”

Hermione swallowed through a choked throat. She realized that she didn’t know for sure if that was true. And Harry was staring at them with a strange mixture of mockery and pity.

“Of course not. I want you to survive, if you can, but there’s no way that I can let you go back to what you were. Didn’t you understand that after our last conversation?”

“But we’re your friends—”

“Who could have _killed _me.”

The room was silent and cold. Hermione glanced towards Riddle and then shivered. The cold magic was coming from him, she was certain. Harry never would have done something like that to them because they were friends.

Or _had _been. “A friend wouldn’t accuse us of that,” she whispered.

Riddle gave another long, sliding hiss of Parseltongue. Harry glanced at him but didn’t respond aloud, answering her instead. “A friend also wouldn’t curse someone in the back or bind his free will so he had no choice but to consent to an unequal duel.”

Hermione licked the inside of her mouth, hating the way it tasted like fear. “We did what we had to do.”

“And that’s part of the reason that you need to go through the trial,” Harry said, his voice soft. Hermione couldn’t be sure what he was feeling, but she thought it might be disbelief. “Because after all this, you’re still loyal to him.”

“No, Harry! I understand what we did wrong. And I’m loyal to you, too. I want to help—you.” Hermione darted a quick glance at Riddle, who was just standing there with his arms crossed. He said nothing, but Hermione didn’t dare meet his eyes for long.

“You haven’t repented, Hermione. You think that you deserve to go free and maybe swear one oath, and that’s _it_? How would you react to me telling you I should be able to do that if I’d cursed Ron in the back and he’d nearly died?”

“I would hate you.”

“Well?”

“We won’t get a fair trial under this biased system, Harry, and you know that. That means the only just thing you _can _do is let us go, so that we can join the public life of the wizarding world again.” _And persuade them to our way of thinking, _she thought, but didn’t say. Harry had to know that. Riddle must, although at the moment he was standing there like a wall and doing nothing.

“I have Truth Crystals. The trial is going to be as fair as it can be. You’ll have to tell the truth about your actions and your motivations, and the people who would be biased against you are going to have to admit their biases.”

Hermione stared at him, appalled. She had been under the Truth Crystals’ spells a few times when she was giving reports to Professor Dumbledore, and _that _had been uncomfortable enough when she knew the Professor would never misuse the facts she gave him. He just wanted to make sure their reports were complete.

Now, though…

“Are you still insane?” she whispered. “How did you know where Professor Dumbledore hid them? Why did you give them to Riddle?”

“You don’t need to worry about how he found them,” Riddle interrupted, voice smooth and so serpentine that Hermione shuddered and drew away from him. Ron wrapped himself close, but for once, the proximity of her soulmate didn’t help. “I’ve had enough of this. I promised Harry that he could have a certain amount of time to talk you around, but that time has passed.”

“You’re going to be disgusting about controlling him, just like Professor Dumbledore said,” Ron snapped.

Riddle shrugged. “It seems to me that you are not upset with the idea of someone controlling Harry, only upset that it’s not someone who’s on your side.” He went on before Hermione could do more than gasp in anger. “Now, perhaps you will listen to me and the simple facts that Harry was dancing around. Your trial takes place next week. You’ll be in front of the Wizengamot and a few witnesses who survived your attack. The Truth Crystals will be in place, as Harry said, to ensure that _everyone _in the room is free of unconscious bias. You can expect—”

“Harry! Why are you standing back and just letting him do this to us?” Hermione asked, noting that Harry was leaning against the wall with his arms folded and his face shut down. She didn’t think she’d _ever _seen him look that cold, which made no sense. Had Riddle cast some spell that gave him control of Harry? It made as much sense as anything else she could think of.

*

Harry caught Tom’s eye, and nodded jerkily. Yes, he remembered their bargain. He had said that Tom could talk after a while if Ron and Hermione weren’t listening to him, and he’d said that he’d step back and stay silent.

And honestly, he didn’t think anything good would happen if he answered Hermione’s question. She was refusing to grasp the obvious, that there wasn’t a miraculous way out of this because they were “on the side of the Light.” And he hadn’t realized, until he said it, how much it hurt that his friends had cursed him the way they had.

Hermione asked another question that Harry ignored. He paced over to the side of the room and stood staring up at the motionless Muggle landscape paintings on the walls. He wondered why Tom had chosen them, but decided that he would ask later, if he ever did at all. The answer probably didn’t matter much.

Tom continued, his tone bland, but the bond around Harry ringing with satisfied fury. “You can expect to be asked questions about the Order of the Phoenix, but of course you will be unable to answer some of them.” He paused, then turned around. “Harry, I didn’t ask how the Truth Crystals worked with vows. Would they be able to force someone to answer even though that person is under an Unbreakable Vow?”

Harry shook his head without turning to Tom. “The Founders, or whoever really created them, didn’t want people to suffer and die under them. They just wanted the truth. They’ll stand there and look foolish until you ask them another question.”

“Looking foolish is an option,” Tom said, and continued to Hermione and Ron. “Your sentence will be Azkaban or death, depending on what you—”

“Fuck you, Riddle!”

Harry spun around. Even he hadn’t thought Ron would go this far. But Ron was on his feet, charging straight at Tom, his hands reaching for his throat.

Harry shouted and tried to Apparate across the room, but he already knew the wards were in place, and—

And then Ron collided with a shield in front of Tom that Harry hadn’t been aware of, and bounced back so far he almost slammed into the couch where Hermione was sitting again. Hermione stood up, pale and horrified, and gathered Ron close, dropping her head so that her hair shaded his face and she was whispering to him.

“Don’t try something like that again,” Tom said softly. He kept his hands folded behind his back. He hadn’t drawn his wand, which meant he’d had the shield hovering around him before they came into the room, Harry realized. _He _had suspected Ron might try a physical attack.

Harry swallowed, a difficult sound. Tom nodded at him and continued, “Depending on how the trial goes.”

“We’ll never accept this kind of justice,” Hermione said, looking up. Harry had thought she might be weeping, from the strained quality in her voice, but she wasn’t. Her eyes were remarkably dry and focused. “You’re in charge of an illegitimate government. You have no _right _to do this to us.”

Tom laughed, short and sharp. “As if the one you would have replaced it with would have been any more legitimate? From what Harry’s said, it makes it seem as if you had no plan once I was defeated but letting whoever wanted to take over the Wizengamot. It could have been someone even more openly hostile to Muggleborns and someone who would make things worse for the people you claim you want to protect.”

“But you would be gone.”

Harry closed his eyes. That simple faith was probably the truth, and probably what Hermione and Ron would say, too, under the Truth Crystals.

Hermione continued, although her voice was wavering. Harry supposed it was the expression on Tom’s face. “And besides, what happens in the Wizengamot doesn’t matter so much. It’s people’s day-to-day lives that we need to deal with. Once you’re gone, those will get better.”

“Why?”

A long silence. Harry had to look, despite his conviction that just keeping his eyes shut would be easier for him, and saw Hermione worrying her lip with her teeth as she stared at him.

But Hermione finally took a deep breath and said, “Because there won’t be someone so charismatic and magically-powerful warping people’s minds. Whatever the Wizengamot does after this, they won’t do it with you in charge, and they won’t be as effective.”

“That comes the closest of anything you’ve said to a coherent argument,” Tom murmured, voice precise. “But you can’t actually know that, and you forget that it might take years for another Minister to be elected.” He gave a half-bow. “I look forward to seeing what the Truth Crystals bring out at your trial, Granger, Weasley.”

He turned around and held out his hand, and Harry came to him. Hermione said something desperate behind him that he deliberately didn’t let himself hear.

“Disappointed?” Tom asked when the door closed behind them.

Harry nodded and stepped closer to him. Tom looked at him with his eyebrows raised. Harry reached up and hooked a hand around the back of his neck, ignoring the way the Aurors watched them.

“You’ve been patient with my desire to speak to them, and I thank you,” Harry said quietly. “I don’t think they’ll be convinced until they hear us speak in the presence of the Truth Crystals, but you can’t help that.”

“All right,” Tom said, his eyebrows raised a little as though he was trying to figure out what Harry was talking about.

“I’d like to spend the night in bed with you. May I?”

Every part of Tom seemed to freeze, including the emotional bond and the magic they shared. He reached up and gently slid the back of his knuckles down Harry’s face. Harry smiled a little, but kept looking steadily at his face. Tom leaned towards him and gently kissed the shell of his ear.

“Yes,” he said. “You may join me.”

Harry nodded and stepped back before the Aurors could get too curious. He turned around to find Amelia Bones striding towards them. She had a crisp frown on her face, and she was carrying what looked like a handkerchief in her fingertips, her whole hand seeming to flinch back from it.

“Is something wrong, Madam Bones?” Tom asked, and canted his body a little to the side, as if he wanted to shield Harry from whatever she was holding.

“I want to know what it means that this was found near my home, Minister Riddle,” Madam Bones said, her voice painfully neutral. “I feel that I’ve been a—a trustworthy ally to you, and so _why _you would leave a piece of cloth with your magical signature and the beginnings of blood magic on it where my niece could have come across it puzzles me.”

Harry was moving before he thought about it. He yanked on the magic swarming around Tom, and heard Tom shout as Harry dissipated the shield that had sheltered him from Ron. Harry didn’t care, though, couldn’t care. He snapped the magic up and out, and the handkerchief in Madam Bones’s hand burst into flames.

“Mr. Potter!” Madam Bones stared at him in outrage. “Are you trying to protect your lover from the natural consequences of his actions? I am appalled—”

“There’s no such thing as a handkerchief that could be used in blood magic and which _also _has the magical signature of a specific person it,” Harry said. His voice was harsh and buzzing, and all around them, the Aurors were moving chaotically, not sure who to attack and who to protect. It didn’t matter. Harry’s eyes stayed on Madam Bones. “The blood magic would obliterate the traces of a magical signature if it was that far advanced, and if the signature was still detectable, you wouldn’t be able to tell it was meant to be used in a blood magic ritual. Which means that isn’t what you were carrying.”

“Mr. Potter, I must insist—”

Tom Stunned her. Madam Bones staggered rather than going down right away, which told Harry a frightening amount about her magical strength, and then another Stunner slammed into her. Tom still conjured a cushion along the floor before she could hit the ground.

That left the Aurors to gape at them in horror. Tom turned to them, and whatever they saw in his face at least redirected their gazes to the floor and the walls. Harry stood there, breathing and staring at Madam Bones.

“You’re to search her office,” Tom said softly. “Find out who she’s been in contact with in the past ten hours. No, twenty.” He glanced at Harry, and Harry nodded. He didn’t know for sure what sort of mind control had been used on Madam Bones, but twenty hours was a good timeframe for tracing back things like the Imperius Curse, so it ought to work for this. “Full permission granted for owl tracers and ward readers.”

“I mean—sir, won’t someone say it’s an invasion of privacy when they find out we did—”

“The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has been _compromised_,” Tom said, and the tile in the floor immediately next to his feet crackled as it turned to ice and then broke. “I assure you that I will bear the brunt of whatever political consequences might come out of this.”

“Yes, sir,” breathed the Auror who had objected, and then several of them took off up the corridor.

Harry glanced at Tom, who was staring at Madam Bones. “Do you think she’s going to be all right?”

“Yes,” Tom said. Harry wondered if he was only imagining the uncertainty in his tone, but when Tom turned to him, he understood. From the stubborn set of Tom’s chin, he would not _let _it be any other way. “We’ll make sure that whoever did this is properly punished for hurting Amelia, Harry.”

“I think we both know who did it.”

Harry thought he had kept his voice low enough, but from the sharp slash Tom’s had made in the air, perhaps not. Harry nodded and stepped back, and watched as Tom turned to converse with the Aurors who had remained around them.

He supposed there was no reason, even now, to think that the Aurors’ ranks were free of traitors.

*

“Why would he do something like that to Amelia Bones?”

Harry put down his cup of tea and faced Lily with a little sigh. Lily stared at him. She knew that he had got no taller in the last few weeks, but it _seemed _as if he had. Certainly he was more clear-eyed and had lost every trace of shyly ducking his head the way he used to when he had to carry the secret about his soulmate around.

“Dumbledore had to know that she was one of the very few people who could get close enough to Tom and me unsuspected,” Harry said, his fingers toying with the outside of the cup. He kept turning his head a little to the side, and Lily was sure, if she asked him, that he would say it was just a coincidence. She didn’t think so. Harry was sensing Riddle’s presence even though he wasn’t here right now, pointing his face in the right direction. “Especially after Whipwood being caught and interrogated. Tom wouldn’t trust an Auror right now.”

“He trusts them around him.”

“They’ve made personal vows of loyalty. But Tom doesn’t trust them enough to just let them approach without putting his guard up.”

Lily looked down at her own teacup and frowned fiercely. Harry made a noise that was sort of like a groan and sort of like a chuckle. “Say what you’re thinking, Mum. I mean, I know you will anyway.”

Lily looked up. “I think that we’ve abandoned one tyrant to support another.”

Harry gave her an odd look. “I didn’t think you supported at him at all.”

“I mean—we’re here.”

“Yeah, but he hasn’t required you to go to Azkaban. He _pardoned _you. That’s not the same as recruiting you.” Harry shrugged, apparently unconcerned with the way Lily was staring at him. “I always assumed that that was the reason you were mostly staying out of the way and looking at furniture and your accounts and things like that.”

Lily swallowed. Then she swallowed again. “You’re not upset about that?”

Harry leaned back and stared up at the ceiling for a second. “Mum, most of the people in the wizarding world _don’t _support him. Or Dumbledore either, admittedly, and the number of people who do that is going to go down now that Dumbledore’s a fugitive.” Lily nodded, because she had assumed the same thing herself. “But there’s mostly a lot of complacency. People didn’t care enough about Tom’s voting record to look it up.” Harry’s eyes narrowed and hardened. “Not even _Hermione _did that. She just accepted Dumbledore’s words about Tom being evil on faith. No one wants to do enough bloody research. They want to believe in the romantic version of his life Tom puts out there, or they want to believe Dumbledore is a shining force for good. It drives me bloody insane,” he muttered.

“Romantic?”

“Oh, come on, Mum. _You _know. That he got his soul-mark burned off when he was a kid but it didn’t stop him, he still believes in love. And here love is coming along and showing that he has a real soulmate and all his patient waiting for him wasn’t in vain.” Harry rolled his eyes. “I mean, he’s a _showman. _A con man.”

“But you support him anyway.”

“We’ve been over this,” Harry said quietly, a force of strength like a fire behind his words. “No, I don’t support what he’s done so far. I support him changing, and he’s starting to talk to me about what that would look like. But I spent twenty-four bloody years denying him and rejecting him because I was told that was what I had to do. It didn’t change anything. For once, I’m working with him.”

Lily hesitated. “And if your father and I never come to his side?”

Harry stirred his tea with magic and watched as it moved in the cup. “I can’t pretend it won’t hurt. But you’re your own people, and you have your own beliefs. It has to be hard to overcome those and just pretend everything is fine.” He hesitated. “And Dumbledore had some good _ideas. _It was his methods I questioned.”

“Are those the ideas that you’re trying to introduce to Riddle?”

Harry nodded. “I mean, not the one where I think it was a good idea to hide from him for twenty-four years. But others.” He smiled.

“Can you—can you forgive us for that?” Lily blurted, and had to close her eyes when she saw how Harry’s expression changed. “Riddle came—he said that we’d betrayed you—”

“Tom,” Harry sighed, and Lily had to hold back a gasp at how much it sounded like the way she sometimes said James’s name. “He does things he knows I don’t want him to in the name of being protective.”

“So you don’t feel comfortable with him?”

“Yes, Mum, that’s exactly it. Because Dad _never _want too far when you were still friends with Severus Snape.”

Lily sighed. “I didn’t—fully accept that we were soulmates then.”

“And I never accepted Tom ever.” Harry folded his arms and gazed at her evenly, although with a pulse beating in his throat that Lily knew meant he would argue with her to the death if he had to. “I know what it’s like, Mum. I know there’s going to be a lot that we have to go through, and work through, and work _on_. The thing is, I don’t see that that’s a reason to give Tom up.”

Lily reached out and caught her son’s hand, squeezing once. “As long as you can accept that we’re probably going to be of the opposite political persuasion.”

“And as long as you can accept that if you act against him, I really don’t think I could convince Tom to pardon you this time,” Harry said quietly.

Lily nodded. Honestly, there was a coil of tension in her belly that had relaxed at the words. The kind of activities that Albus had directed the Order of the Phoenix to do no longer appealed to her. Informing people about Riddle and his laws and votes, writing letters, talking to Muggleborns and Muggles who were affected by the restrictions, and getting rid of the Dementors in Azkaban all sounded much more interesting.

“I hoped Hermione would come to the same conclusion,” Harry said then. He stared into his teacup as if there was something important hidden at the bottom of it. “But she still thinks that it’s unfair that she’s going to be tried at all, and that there are going to be Truth Crystals at the trial.”

“Truth Crystals? Where did you get _them_?”

“I created them.”

Lily opened her mouth and then closed it. “I think Albus must be kicking himself,” she said at last.

Harry stared at her curiously. “For what? I don’t think he realizes that I spent enough time around the Truth Crystals to figure out how they work. I don’t think anyone knows that.”

Lily shook her head. “Not that. I mean that he must have wished he had encouraged you to _use _your magic.”

“On his behalf, then. And then Tom wouldn’t have got away with so much, and Ron and Hermione would have known better and could have figured out the right way to take me down. Yes, I see.”

Lily’s heart hurt at the casual way he spoke about the essential end of his friendship with Ron and Hermione. She stood up and came around the table. Harry stood, too, his brow furrowing for a second, and then gasped as Lily enveloped him in her arms and hugged him close.

“I love you,” Lily whispered. “I love you so much. And I want you to know that _nothing _is as important to me as you coming home safe, except your happiness. I’m so sorry that the way we raised you made you so unhappy. I’m sorry, baby.”

Harry leaned against her and kissed her gently on the cheek. “This is why I don’t agree with what Tom did, Mum. I mean, the way he confronted you. There’s no way that we can go back and change the past. And you genuinely did have good intentions.”

“That wasn’t enough to save Ron and Hermione with you. Or Dumbledore.”

“They’re not my parents,” Harry said, so dryly that Lily laughed in spite of herself. “And Ron and Hermione…lied to me, too. And Dumbledore probably went too far the minute he refused to listen to Tom’s claim that he’d had his soul-mark burned off. He made his choices, and he finally did something stupid in public. He’ll be hunted down now, and frankly, that’s enough for me.”

“You’re too forgiving, maybe,” Lily said. She felt tears prickle against the sides of her eyes, but blinked them away. “I’m sure Riddle would say so.”

“Tom should be _glad _that I’m this forgiving. It’s not like I would have accepted that arsehole as my soulmate otherwise.”

And Lily laughed again, and something even deeper in her eased with those words.

*

“Coming, dear one?”

Harry smiled into the mirror of Tom’s bathroom. Then his smile faded, and he took a deep breath, and removed his shirt. He’d already decided what he wanted, and the desire spread through him more strongly than his fear.

His fingers still trembled as he laid his shirt aside, though.

“In a minute,” he called back.

“You don’t need to brush your teeth. I promise that I won’t turn away no matter what your breath smells like.”

The sincerity Harry could feel through their bond, and the banked heat of Tom’s own desire, reassured Harry more than anything else could have done. He nodded firmly at the mirror and raked his fingers through his hair. Then he reached down and hooked his fingers into his trousers and pants, tugging them down in one smooth motion.

He straightened up and stared at himself in Tom’s full-length mirror, then gave his head an impatient shake. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know what he looked like. And from the desire smoldering in their bond, he knew Tom would like the way he looked.

At least.

He _hoped _Tom would like the way he looked. The only feature people had tended to praise on him was his eyes. And even that had been limited praise, because Harry had made it clear from the time he started attending Hogwarts that he planned to wait for his soulmate.

_That turned out to be true, didn’t it? Just in another way that had nothing to do with someone coming close enough to see your soul-mark when you were naked._

For some reason, that made Harry’s shoulders straighten, and he smiled in spite of himself. Then he turned and walked out of the bathroom.

*

Tom had expected some sort of surprise with the fluid way that Harry’s emotions kept changing in the bond and the vague answers he gave when Tom asked if he was ready to come out yet, but he had never expected _this._

Harry stepping into view naked was a sight that Tom hadn’t realized he wanted.

His desire was suddenly so present that moving and catching his breath was a chore. Tom swallowed and stalked a slow step forwards. Harry stood watching him come, his eyes tracing over Tom’s face for a second before falling to his erection.

Tom was glad, now, that he still wore his robes, and that they had done enough before this for Harry not to be shocked by the sight of Tom’s cock pressing against the cloth. He would enjoy undressing for Harry, but he didn’t want to deal with a virgin terrified to the point of running.

Harry smiled a little then. “I never intended to run,” he said. “We’ve both had enough of that.”

“Picking up my thoughts, my dear?” Tom was surprised the words didn’t come out in Parseltongue, his voice deepening and sliding as he stopped in front of Harry and reached out a hand to trail his long fingers over a thick, ropy scar on Harry’s chest. Harry breathed in, and Tom watched, entranced, as the skin rose and fell beneath his touch, humming with life. “What is this scar from?”

Harry had to tilt his head sharply to the side to see where Tom’s hand was resting, which Tom found far more enchanting than he should have. “Oh. Someone conjured a panther during a duel with another student in Gryffindor and then bloody lost control of it.”

Tom stared at him. “A panther. It does not look like a bite.”

“No, it used its claws.”

“Who was this student?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Look, he had to serve detention for four months straight with Professor McGonagall. I think he was punished _enough._” He leaned forwards and kissed Tom without touching him with his hands, and Tom’s interests changed abruptly.

And Tom let the name of the unknown student go, more than content to gather Harry in his arms and lean forwards, their tongues touching each other’s, their lips brushing, their hands gathering each to one another.

Tonight would be the night they bonded fully, the night Tom had once assumed he would never live to see even if he became immortal.

And here it was.

_This is worth more than immortality. _


	23. Beds

Harry swallowed as Tom gently escorted him to the bed. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been here before, and it wasn’t as if someone had compelled the decision he’d made in the bathroom. He knew what he wanted.

He wouldn’t be here if Tom had tried to force him.

Tom paused and caught his eye, which Harry supposed shouldn’t be such a surprise. Their bond had to be ringing and trembling with his nervousness. “I promise that I will not hurt you. I’ll use all the spells necessary. And if you want to back off and wait for this, I can do that.”

The bond sang how much Tom would hate to do that even more than his shaking hand did as he reached out to trace a path down Harry’s breastbone. Harry caught his wrist as he lay down and shook his head. “No, Tom, I don’t want to wait. This is the right time. But please use the spells.” He smiled, and then smiled a little more from the way Tom stared at him, his eyes wide. “It’s also my first time, after all.”

“You don’t know how glad I am of that,” Tom said as he moved his wand in intricate patterns, and Harry felt a soft warmth travel through his arse, followed by an odd, involuntary relaxing of his muscles and a slickness at his entrance. “I’m greedy. I know I didn’t wait, and I couldn’t have expected my soulmate to wait for me. But if I had to know that you’d shared yourself with someone else…”

“Well, you don’t have to,” Harry said simply. He had seen the way Tom’s eyes lingered on the panther-claw scar on his chest, and he already didn’t like to imagine how Tom would fight to restrain himself from hunting down the responsible party. “I’m right here, and all yours.”

Tom’s eyes darkened, and the air around them writhed for a second, dark shapes like the phoenixes he had used to harm Sirius appearing and then disappearing. Harry swallowed. It shouldn’t have made him harder, but _should _appeared to have very little bearing on his reactions.

Tom reached up to the collar of his robes and touched them. The robes folded neatly back, followed by the shirt and pants he had worn underneath them, and puddled on the floor for a second before rolling themselves into a neat bundle on the chair arm.

Harry stared blankly at him, then said, “Unfair not to teach me that spell.”

“_I’ll teach you all sorts of things, darling._”

Harry spread his legs with a soft needy sound, and Tom came to kneel on the bed next to him. For a moment, he stared, and Harry caught flickers of thought and emotion, loneliness and yearning and the conviction Tom had come to ten years ago that he would never stop seeking his soulmate, even though by then he thought they must have been born and were avoiding him.

“I think we were always meant to end up here,” Harry whispered, arching his neck and catching Tom’s gaze, “whatever our politics were and whatever tricks I came up with to hide.”

Tom’s smile warmed slowly into place, and he reached out and let his fingers curl around Harry’s soul-mark. Harry sighed as the blue flames sprang into being. He glanced at the burn scar on Tom’s chest.

“Yes, I wish I had one for you to touch,” Tom whispered. “I hope that you don’t mourn its absence.” He glanced towards the pile of robes. On top, the phoenix made of onyx and diamonds gleamed.

“No.” Harry took a deep breath and did what he could to shift the mood. Right now, he thought too much softness would drift towards melancholy for the years and things they’d lost, and he didn’t want that. “You know what I wish for?”

“What?” Tom stared at him, focused, as if Harry was the center of his existence.

“For you to fuck me,” Harry whispered, and grabbed his arm to draw him in.

*

Tom knew what Harry was doing, but he allowed it. There was no retrieving the past, and he wouldn’t spend his completion of the sexual bond with his soulmate trying.

He released Harry’s wrist and followed the motion of his demanding arm down to kiss him, then stretched out on top of Harry completely bare for the first time. Harry’s breath visibly hitched, and he reached up, half-clawing at Tom, grabbing and holding anywhere he could. Tom welcomed the pain of the small scratches Harry’s short nails inflicted.

He breathed out gently and then rolled out of the way, going up onto his knees to reach for his wand again. He cast more lubrication and relaxing charms, and then, with a smile, the one that made Harry twitch his head around to stare curiously.

“_Just ensuring that when I’m inside you, you’ll experience more pleasure than normal from my cock,_” Tom hissed as he put his wand aside. “_Pleasure just from having it in you, no matter what it touches or if I’m moving._”

He knew he’d made the right decision when he saw how Harry’s eyes met his, and Harry nodded rapidly twice and spread his legs.

But Tom wanted to touch him other places first, and he spread his fingers out around Harry’s nipples. They were already tight, and Tom didn’t pull them. He leaned down and breathed on them instead.

Harry gave a hoarse hiss in which Tom could, unfortunately, detect no Parseltongue words. Then he lunged his head off the pillow and kissed Tom in a painful click of teeth. Tom eased back and slipped his hand around Harry’s cock.

It hardly needed the help, straining up from between Harry’s legs as it was, but Tom had had too many fantasies about this moment to let them go so easily. He formed his fingers into a ring and held still.

“What do you—want?” Harry asked, after a second. He was concentrating on Tom as hard as he could, but Tom wasn’t surprised that he couldn’t pick up exactly what Tom longed for. Their mental bond was too new and not complete yet.

“I always thought, if I had a male soulmate, that I wanted him to fuck my fist.”

“People would be so surprised to know how lazy you are,” Harry muttered, but his smile was already the deep, shining one that Tom liked best. He began to thrust up, his erection sliding along Tom’s fingers and slicking them. Tom just stared, and his heart thundered and sang in his chest.

It was better and more vivid than anything he’d imagined. Everything, from the soft sounds it made to the way that Harry’s cock caught here and there at the calluses from quills, was _real_.

“I’m starting to feel like I’m doing all the work here,” Harry finally drawled, sprawling back on the bed and giving Tom a challenging look. “Is there going to be any reciprocation, or is the Minister for Magic too lazy to do that?”

“What do you want?” Tom repeated, and then again in Parseltongue, to watch that greedy dark look creep into his eyes.

“I want you to—”

Harry half-closed his eyes as if to gather his strength, but Tom was a practiced Legilimens, and he picked up the flash of the thought. He laughed. “Well, soulmates are supposed to be well-matched sexually as well as in souls and minds and magic.”

“Shut up,” Harry muttered.

“Glad to,” Tom said, and slithered down the bed with his mouth open. Harry was thrusting before Tom got him in his mouth, which made the position more challenging, but he hardly cared. He rode the violent pushes into his throat, and Harry’s shaky groan made him thrust, too, against the bedsheets.

Tom didn’t get long to suck Harry, unfortunately, since Harry was already near his peak and Tom had to do what he wanted. He reached out, timing it, waiting until the last safe second, and then cast the spell that choked back Harry’s orgasm.

Harry cast back his head and uttered a strangled howl. Tom remained calm, knowing exactly what Harry was feeling from the emotional bond surging around him. Harry swallowed and lay there with his chest heaving—an attractive sight, Tom had to admit—and then looked at him.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “That was _intense._”

“That’s part of what you need,” Tom whispered, reaching back down and letting his fingers trace around Harry’s slick arsehole. Harry let his eyes flutter shut and sighed. “That intensity of experience. You crave it.” He paused, and his eyes turned against his will to Harry’s chest. “Was that part of the business with the panther?”

“Fuck you,” Harry said crossly, his eyes flying open again and the emotional bond turning nearly to a solid block of ice around Tom. “I didn’t conjure it and it wasn’t _my _idea to have it attack me!”

“But you also treated having the scar completely nonchalantly, and I’m sure that you never told the name of the person who conjured it to your Head of House.” Tom had evaluated Minerva McGonagall carefully before he had let her become Head of Gryffindor House, and he didn’t believe she would have let someone like that go unpunished.

Harry flushed a dull red. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Once we have the mental bond, I can read the name out of your head,” Tom said, and laughed at the way Harry snarled. Not because he couldn’t feel the anger, but because he loved the way Harry looked when he felt like that.

“Are you going to fuck me, or am I going to have to conjure a cock and do it all myself?”

“Do you know that spell, then?” Tom asked, as he renewed the pleasure charms on his cock. He didn’t want Harry to get any idea about relying on his own hands.

“Yes.”

“Did you use it often?”

Harry met his gaze, and his face lost some of the red tint. But he breathed in deep and answered. “Not often. It just felt like reminding myself of something I was never going to have. Or I thought I was never going to have.”

“You’ll have all you want, all you’ll ever need,” Tom promised, and his fingers settled on Harry’s hip. “And you’ll let me know if you do feel pain, or something beyond the level of intensity you want.”

“I’ll tell you.”

The shining eyes and the shining face uptilted to him ruined Tom’s simple plan to slide into Harry. He leaned forwards and did it at the same time he was kissing Harry, swallowing his gasp, and running his fingers down Harry’s chest and over that panther scar.

He wanted _everything _about Harry. His wounds, his pain, his desires, his embarrassment, his cravings, his memories. And he was on the way to achieving it.

*

Harry hadn’t been lying when he’d said that he rarely did the Invisible Cock Conjuration. He would lie there after it was done with his eyes closed, wanting to be fucked by his soulmate, knowing it couldn’t happen, feeling guilty for wanting it to happen, feeling angry at the people who had told him it never could.

Now he knew that it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d conjured the damn thing every day. Because having Tom inside him was _nothing _like the invisible, _tiny _cocks that he’d managed to conjure before this.

He lay there, gasping, and feeling the hardness inside him, piercing him, opening his arse, separating him from the man he had been. Tom leaned down above him with a frown, hands on his shoulders and eyes bright and concerned.

“Harry?”

“I’m all right.” Harry blinked his eyes open, and found that he was smiling, although that was no surprise when he could feel their bond spinning open around them like a sunburst. He reached up and let his hand rest on Tom’s cheek. “I still promise that I would tell you when it gets too much for me.”

Tom nodded, that serenely smug smile creeping back into place. “In truth, I no longer think you would need to. I would _feel _it.” And he began to thrust.

Harry reached back, gripping the pillows above him, and opened his legs and his body and his mind.

There was nothing like this, and Harry let himself spiral into the bond. There was pleasure spreading from Tom over him like fire, and there were the harsh motions of Tom’s body that caused that pleasure, and there were so many emotions tumbling over him that it was like being caught in a flow of warm water, and there were flickering, dancing thoughts—

Harry reached out towards them.

_Mine, my soulmate, worth waiting for, wish I’d waited, wouldn’t have been able to make it so good for him if I had—_

Harry let the thoughts go with a gasp and worked his inner muscles around Tom, making him lean closer and hiss in Parseltongue, “_You’re going to need more than that to bring me off, darling._”

Harry just stared at him, still reeling with the possessiveness he’d felt, and Tom’s determination to have and _keep _him. Tom smiled lazily at him and continued moving. True to his words earlier, he must have been able to feel from the mental bond that Harry’s shock was nothing bad.

“I can do more than that,” Harry whispered when he’d recovered his breath, and began to squeeze in opposition to Tom’s thrusts, bearing down when he pulled out, relaxing as he pushed back in. Tom’s mouth dropped open, and his eyes fluttered. The bond danced around them again, chaotic and golden.

Harry immersed himself once more in the thoughts. He’d always belived they were calm and orderly; that was the way Hermione had described the bond she had with Ron, at least, the one time Harry had been masochistic enough to ask her about it.

But instead, this was a storm.

_Mine, protect him, keep him, have him, he’s safe, he’s underneath me, he’s staring at me like I’m the center of his world, I’m going to be—_

Harry darted back out again, a swift shudder of pleasure running down his spine. Tom smiled down at him and kept languidly thrusting, and damn, Harry had lost the rhythm he’d been maintaining. He squeezed down again, doing his best to envelop Tom in warmth and pleasure that would hold him.

His mind was spinning, and not just because of the fierceness of the bond that might calm down when it wasn’t so new.

Tom was—

Tom was _mad _over him.

If they had known, it would have been possible to have peace with him a long time ago. Tom would have agreed to almost anything, including, Harry knew, treating Muggleborns better, when it was such a game to him in the first place. To have his soulmate, to know that his parents were raising him and treating him kindly—

To be able to meet him when he was younger and reassure Harry that he would live by Harry’s principles in the future—

Because of _fear, _that chance had been taken away from all of them, not just Harry and Tom but the Order and the world.

“Harry,” Tom whispered, and touched his cheek. Harry blinked up at him, dazedly. “You’re crying. Are you all right?”

Harry bit his lip and nodded. Tom had stopped moving. Harry mustered a laugh when he noticed. “How are you going to get me off by holding still? Sorry, but I don’t think even _you’re _that good.”

“Will you tell me what you were weeping about later?” Tom’s eyes had more than a hint of red to them, and he was frozen above Harry, so intent still that Harry felt a rush of possessive affection of his own.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said. “And I’ll be better than fine when you get your arse moving in my arse again.”

Tom continued to study him for a second as if he wasn’t sure Harry was telling the truth, but Harry projected the calm and reassurance he truly felt through the bond, and Tom finally nodded and began to move. Harry opened himself up again, this time not trying to read the individual thoughts as they swept through his mind like soft rain.

He knew what they meant, anyway, without hearing them. He was loved.

*

Tom could feel the grieving edge to Harry’s thoughts, but he couldn’t grasp them well enough to tell what he was thinking _about._ Harry’s mind leaped and darted like a fish, and the waters of their bond were too new yet. Tom had heard the effect described many times, but for some reason, he had never thought it would happen to him.

He shook away the disappointment as a glow seemed to spread out of Harry’s mind and embrace him. The important thing was that they loved each other, and they were soulmates, and together at once.

And he wanted to concentrate on giving his soulmate as good a first time as it was possible to have.

He thrust without taking his eyes from Harry. Harry stared up at him for a second, and then began to smile. He squeezed down again, with a devilish edge to the smile that reminded Tom of how Harry had resisted him when he’d first begun to suspect there was something unusual about the young man who had saved him from a collapsing roof.

Tom bent down next to Harry’s ear and breathed, “It occurs to me that I still technically owe you a life-debt.”

Harry scowled at once. “No, you—_oh_.” He let his eyes fall half-shut as Tom thrust again, carefully hitting his prostate.

“So glad that you agree, since you’re not actually disagreeing,” Tom said casually, and laughed a little when Harry’s eyes flared open to focus on him again. “I love you, darling.”

Harry gaped up at him, and Tom touched his cheek before he resumed his thrusts. Harry swallowed and whispered, “I—love you, too.”

The emotional bond around them might have been lit on fire, a gentle, coruscating warmth that made Tom’s heart beat faster in his chest. He held himself back from coming with an effort, and managed to smile as he said, “I’m going to make this so good for you.”

“It already _is._”

“You have no idea,” Tom said, and then closed his eyes and descended into the haze of warmth in his own chest. Harry’s power thrummed there next to his own. Tom paused for a startled moment. He had always expected the magic of his soulmate to blend with his own, but hadn’t known that—

That they would become _one _like this. He wouldn’t be pulling on Harry’s magic when he cast a spell if he wanted extra power. He would be pulling on _theirs._

But at least it made what he wanted to do easier. Tom shook away his own surprise and hissed out the incantation, slowly, envisioning a serpent winding up and around Harry’s chest as he did so. Parseltongue made the manipulation of nerves and physical sensations easier, the snake-like pattern of veins and arteries and neurons resonating in sympathy with the language. Tom had only done this once before, however, and he fed the strength slowly through the net of his concentration.

“You stopped again.”

“My apologies,” Tom murmured, and opened his eyes to see Harry frowning at him in a way that was honestly marvelous. “I think I can promise that from now on, that’s not going to be a feature of our sex.”

“Altogether?”

“No, just this one time,” Tom admitted, and then cast his own small charm to ensure that he wouldn’t hurt his back and hips doing what he wanted to do, before he began to thrust wildly forwards.

Harry gasped and then began to buck back to meet him. But his muscles hadn’t been enhanced by the magic Tom had used, and it only took a few minutes before he ran out of strength and lay there, making the most minute of motions with his hips, his eyes locked on Tom’s.

“What did you do?”

“Something special,” Tom said, and then thrust forwards and plowed directly into Harry’s prostate.

Harry gasped again as he began to come. Tom watched with his emotions whirling around him and Harry’s incoherent thoughts flying beside his as Harry coated his own belly, and then raised an eyebrow when Harry stared down in bewilderment.

“I’m still hard,” Harry whispered, his eyes darting back up to Tom.

“Parseltongue has a charm that allows for multiple orgasms,” Tom explained, and then began to thrust again.

Harry just stared at him, but in less than a minute, he tipped over the edge again, vibrating and shouting. Tom grinned. In truth, the spell was more a matter of giving Harry the pleasure than making him come more than once; his erection hadn’t gone down much. Tom thought there might be enough magic left for twice more.

Harry was breathing harshly as he managed to focus again. “I—_Tom. _I feel so _good_.”

And the bond burst into light around them, not fire, and Tom had to close his eyes as he felt it immerse him to the point where he could no longer imagine being separate. He reached out and wrapped his hand around Harry’s erection, stroking, touching, and then pulling back and pushing forwards once more.

Harry shivered through another orgasm, his expression open and simply _happy _in a way that Tom had never seen on him before. He looked up and met Tom’s gaze, and then he laughed, a sound as simple and happy as the grin. He reached out a yearning hand, and Tom claimed it and kissed the back of it.

One more, he thought, and the spell would be finished. And his bollocks were beginning to ache with the effort of holding back, and the spell he had cast to strengthen his muscles would be fading before much longer, too.

“Ready?” he whispered.

“I don’t think there’s any getting ready for _this_,” Harry said, and laughed again. “Thanks for having lovers before me and studying sex magic, Tom.”

A bit of guilt Tom hadn’t realized he was feeling burned away at that, and he smiled and thrust again, and then again, and then once more—

And the whole of his being caught on fire.

He saw the shapes of phoenixes sweeping past him for a moment, and serpents, and Harry’s face. And then he fell into his orgasm, and into the bond at the same moment.

It pushed him to the bed, and then it pushed him into unconsciousness less than a second later.

*

Harry wrapped his arms around Tom and settled back on the bed. The steady hum of their bond sang around him, reassuring him, despite the odd blackness where Tom’s thoughts should be. Even when he had been asleep before, it hadn’t felt like this, not since the mental aspect of the bond had started and they had been catching glimpses of each other’s thoughts. Then it had been like standing at the edge of a restless dark pool alive with darting fish.

But Harry knew their bond wouldn’t hurt Tom. He had to trust in that. He took a long breath and closed his eyes, and listened to the humming song around them.

It wasn’t exactly like anyone else’s bond, but then, Harry was starting to suspect that no words really existed to describe that bond to someone who hadn’t experienced it. There were bright ribbons of emotion, trails of light that marked where their bond had completed itself, echoes of pleasure. Harry smiled and stretched a little around the soreness in his arse, and watched as the impressions in front of his eyes danced and rippled into new configurations. Yes, the physical, sexual aspect of their bond was complete as well.

And their magic…

Harry reached out and yanked carefully on their magic, and the mingled, pooled power leaped at him. He gasped and sagged back against the pillow, and shuddered as new memories and knowledge settled into the back of his mind like a heavy block.

He _knew _how Tom had called forth those serpents from the earth when he had faced Dumbledore and the Order. He—he didn’t know if he could do it. It didn’t feel as though he could speak Parseltongue, as though that ability had transferred. But he knew so intimately how it was done that he might be able to anyway.

And there were other memories, Harry thought, as his hand went to his chest. He knew, as if he passed through it and out again in a flash, what it was like to have a soul-mark on his chest, and have it burned off.

He swallowed and touched the memory again, and this time the sensation that swept through him was one of dark rage, freezing rage, the conviction that he might lose his soulmate forever and the desperation to make someone _pay _for that.

Harry closed his eyes. He could no longer claim to be innocent of the darkness in the depths of Tom Riddle. He turned his mind in another direction, and he knew kinship with the freezing indifference that had made Tom able to vote for laws that he knew would hurt and disadvantage Muggleborns and Muggles.

Harry _understood _what it was like to care for nothing and no one but himself and his soulmate.

He breathed out and released the feeling, and then moved closer to Tom, curving one arm around his back. He thought, as he began to drift off to sleep, that if he got to understand what it was like for Tom, then at least Tom would also get to understand what it was like for him, and that might teach him compassion in a way nothing else had been able to do.

And then Harry’s eyes snapped open again. Tom would _also _get the emotional content of the memories where Harry had lain there in the dead of night and thought no one would ever love him and he would have to suffer alone for the rest of his life.

_Well—I mean, the compassion has to outweigh that, right? The things I think are right mattered more to me than my loneliness over my soulmate. I thought about them more._

_At least, I hope so._

But Harry found, as he lay down in the embrace of the stirring, complete bond, that he wouldn’t have given up any of it to protect his privacy. This was the course he had chosen, and it was the right one, the _only _one, that would bring him to love and peace.

_And if I have to drag Tom along behind me to get him to follow it, that’s what I’ll bloody do._


	24. Claims

Tom woke slowly, his magic pulsing inside him the way his lungs did when he’d taken a particularly deep breath. He rolled over and blinked. Harry was curled next to him, his marked wrist an inch or so from Tom’s eyes.

Tom touched it and watched the blue flames spill out at the same moment as he touched their completed bond. He wasn’t surprised it had dragged him into unconsciousness, not when he felt how thick it was. He’d used more magic than Harry in the bed, and he’d also gone longer without the completion.

But now Harry was asleep and didn’t feel, or notice, Tom gliding gently in and out of his memories. His trust in Tom was another thing that had become perfect with the bond. Tom held back the desire to crow about that, and instead carefully drew out a memory in front of him, long and gold and gleaming, like a particularly bright strand pulled from someone’s temple to put in a Pensieve.

The memory glittered in front of him as Tom entered it, but the glitter faded quickly. Tom found himself in the drawing room of an ordinary cottage, and glanced around to see Harry, who looked seven or so, sitting in front of the fireplace. He was cradling his right wrist, his fingers obliterating Tom’s name. This must have been long before he got the phoenix tattoo.

Tom moved across the room and stood behind Harry, resting a hand on his shoulder, even though he knew it would make no difference, as no one here could see him.

Harry stood up as Lily Potter came into the room, and Tom moved his hand. “Mum,” Harry said, with a quiver in his spine that Tom could feel, although his voice was firm.

Lily glanced up from the book in her hand. “Yes, Harry? Did you want fish and chips for dinner tomorrow? I’m afraid it can’t be tonight, Albus is coming over, and he asked for—”

“Mum,” Harry repeated, and his mother closed the book and concentrated on him. “I don’t want to—talk about dinner. I want to talk about my soulmate.” He lifted his hand and thrust his wrist forwards.

A complex expression crossed Lily’s face, and Tom sneered a little. The woman was playing the part of a tormented mother, as far as he was concerned. She wouldn’t fight for her child. She gave in to and went along with what Dumbledore wanted.

Yet, of course, part of what had made the memory glitter so was Harry’s love for his parents, and Tom knew he wouldn’t be able to talk Harry out of that. He retreated towards the fireplace as Lily sat down in a chair and Harry kicked the corner of the hearth with his foot.

“You know why you can’t be with your soulmate, Harry,” Lily said, settling her robes around her. “We’ve talked about this.”

“But it’s not _fair_,” Harry said, and stared intensely at her, in a way that made the declaration less than childish. Tom moved around him so that he could see Harry’s face, and yes, even at this age his eyes could blaze with fire. “You said that you hated Dad the first time you met him because he made fun of your best friend. And Mr. Dumbledore’s soulmate was a _Dark Lord. _But you were both with them.”

Lily Potter bit her lip and looked less than comfortable. _Good, _Tom thought, though as far as he was concerned, this was far less than the lash she deserved. “Well, Harry. I mean—it isn’t a matter of fair and unfair. Your father is a good person. And Albus broke off the bond with Grindelwald when he realized what kind of man he was.”

“But you just say that I can _never be with him. _I want to know why.”

There was an odd thrumming just at the edge of Tom’s awareness, straining around the edge of the memory like stitches on a shirt. He cocked his head and realized it was Harry’s magic, answering its young owner’s agitation. He sighed, wishing he could have been here, wishing he could have done something.

Harry’s control was unnatural in a seven-year-old, or six-year-old, which he might be. Most children that age still had accidental magic outbursts all the time. It spoke of the kind of hell his parents and Dumbledore had put him through.

“Because we fear that he would get hold of you, and make you want to stay with him,” Lily said. She opened her arms. “Come here, baby.”

But Harry didn’t move. “You’re saying,” he said, and rubbed his marked wrist on his trousers, “that I’m not a good person? Because I would want to stay with him.” His face looked ready to crumble. “I’m not a good person like Dad is a good person or Mr. Dumbledore is a good person.”

Lily flew across the room then and gathered him close. Harry leaned against her, but his jaw was still clenched, and his hand was rubbing and rubbing at his right wrist. Tom could see that much from where he stood.

“Never, never,” Lily whispered. “I would never say that. You’re _such _a good person, Harry, so good that you want to give someone evil a chance. But that just makes it more dangerous, you see?”

“No.”

Lily sighed and sat back, kneeling down in front of Harry to study him. Tom noted that she kept her eyes firmly away from Harry’s right arm, even though his left hand was covering the mark right now anyway. “It’s easier for evil people to trick good people, Harry. You would want to give your soulmate a chance, because he’s your _soulmate, _and you would give in to him, and you would think that things couldn’t be so bad and _he _wasn’t so bad. Even though you know he is. Do you understand?”

Harry closed his eyes. “But that’s still like Mr. Dumbledore and Grindelwald. He still had a _chance _to get to know him. And he rejected the bond when he found out Grindelwald was a bad person. My soulmate’s not a Dark Lord. Why can’t I at least try? Maybe I could turn him good instead of him turning me bad.”

_My soulmate was more logical than half the adults in the Order of the Phoenix at seven years old, _Tom thought.

“Oh, Harry.” Lily touched the back of his head, not looking away from his face. “I’m sorry. I wanted to wait until you were older. But your soulmate _is _a Dark Lord.”

Tom’s magic coiled, lashing, around him, and if this memory had been reality, he would have shattered half the furniture in the room. Harry was staring at his mother with a profoundly betrayed look on his face. “What?” he whispered. “But I just thought—I just thought he was the Minister for Magic, not a Dark Lord.”

Lily nodded sadly. And the infuriating thing, Tom thought, stalking in a circle around them to relieve his feelings, was that she truly _did _believe that, and wasn’t lying to Harry. “Yes, Harry. I’m sorry. He hides it. He’s preparing for a war in secret. He learned his lesson from Dark Lords like Grindelwald who were open about it. But he is one, and we can’t have him with you. Imagine how powerful he would grow if you fell in love with him.”

Harry rubbed his face with his hands, like he was going to cry. He was a little boy at the moment, Tom thought, and yet the memory around him began to radiate an almost adult pain, a consequence of this being something shared through the mental bond instead of a Pensieve. “N-no. I can’t—I can’t believe that, Mum. Why would magic and fate be so cruel and just give me to a Dark Lord?”

“I don’t know,” Lily said. She clung to her son, but Tom was more pleased than he could say that Harry didn’t lift his arms to hug her back. “No one really understands how soul-marks come to be. They just are. And sometimes they don’t make much sense. And it’s possible to lose or reject a soulmate bond. You know that.”

“But you said soulmates were special and good, too,” Harry whispered. “And that it was Sirius’s worst thing that he lost Mr. Lupin. And I thought you and Dad were special, and everyone was special, and—Mr. Dumbledore told me that he even used to think his bond with Grindelwald was special. I d-don’t—why am I _different_? I don’t want to be _different_!”

And then he was sobbing into his mother’s shoulder, while she rocked him back and forth and whispered comforting words into his ear. Platitudes, Tom noticed. He sneered. Of course. She didn’t really understand what she was saying, didn’t understand what she believed, and she refused to notice the contradictions in her own belief system. If soulmates were a gift, then Harry’s must be, too. If everyone else got to have a chance to dedicate themselves to a bond and only reject it after a taste, Harry should, too.

But it was different, because it _was_.

Because of an old man’s fear.

The air around Tom shone like a sword, and he knew what that meant even though their mental bond wasn’t very old. He didn’t have much time left here, because Harry was waking up. He took a step back and let his mind pass up and through the memory, but his knowledge of it burned in him nonetheless.

He opened his eyes and found himself staring into Harry’s open ones. Harry smiled at him tentatively, but touched the emotional bond a second later and let the smile fade. “What’s wrong?” Harry whispered.

“I want to kill a great many people who hurt you,” Tom told him.

Harry sighed. “I know. But I don’t want you to.”

Tom rolled on top of him, consumed, almost choking, with the need to hear the answer to a question from Harry’s lips. Harry relaxed beneath him, staring, while his mind danced with white question marks and the bond around them chimed with his concern.

“Did you ever want to leave them all behind and come looking for me?” Tom breathed. “_Tell _me.”

“You could read the answer out of my mind.”

“I want to hear it from _you_.” Tom carefully drew his hand back when he realized their magic was flowing over his fingernails, sharpening them nearly to claws. He didn’t want to hurt Harry, and nor did he want to tear the pillows to shreds. They were poor substitutes for the true victims he wanted. “_Tell me, Harry._”

Harry swallowed and nodded. “I thought about it sometimes,” he said. “There was one night I actually packed my trunk and grabbed my broom and almost flew out the window of Gryffindor Tower, to come to you.”

Tom pictured what that might have been like, and hissed again. “_What stopped you_?”

“I imagined the looks on my parents’ faces if I did,” Harry mumbled. “They’d just been exiled, and I—I was a mess. I thought of myself as an orphan. I thought I would never see them again. I just wanted _someone _who could care for me because of who I was, and not who they thought I was.”

“Yes, you lied to your friends,” Tom said softly. “And you turned around and put the trunk away?”

Harry nodded against his chest. Tom drew back enough so that he could see Harry’s eyes and hold them. He could have felt the answer through the bond before Harry spoke, if he’d wanted, but he needed to see what Harry looked like when he said it. “And is that the only time that you ever thought of a solution for your problem?”

“No, of course not,” Harry said, and a long, soft chill passed through their bond. “I thought about running away to you other times, although that was the time I went furthest. I—” He turned his head restlessly away.

“Harry.”

Harry half-closed his eyes. “Look, I’m not proud of the other things I tried to do, and I think they would only hurt you. So why talk about them?”

“You know that we’ll share memories more and more often now, until the bond settles completely.” Tom put a hand on the back of his neck and gently tilted Harry’s head until they were face-to-face again. “Will you hide all of them and mutter that you want me to be safe, only to have me come upon them unexpectedly?” Harry said nothing, but his mouth shifted into the stubborn line that Tom remembered from courting him, and the bond was still. “How bad were they?”

“Bad.”

Tom stared at him, and fear coalesced into certainty. “You tried, at least once,” he said, his voice coming more slowly to give himself time to get used to it, “to kill yourself.”

Harry closed his eyes. “Yes.”

Tom said nothing, but Harry still flinched back from him, no doubt feeling what he wouldn’t say. “I didn’t, obviously,” Harry said, and opened his eyes and glared. “It—that was only _once. _Other times, I was trying things that I hoped would get rid of the mark. Okay? I know now it was wrong and I should have accepted you from the beginning. I was thinking about that last night, about how if my parents and the Order had been _smart _they would have tried to bargain with you, and got you to moderate your behavior in exchange for keeping me safe and treating me well. It was Dumbledore’s fear that made that impossible. Stop _staring _at me like that.”

“You need a Mind-Healer, Harry.”

Harry wrenched himself in his arms, although since he was under Tom and pinned to the bed Tom wondered idly where he thought he was going. “Don’t _say _that! I did the best I could! I put up with all the stupid pressures they piled on me, and _you _piled on me, and—”

“I am not saying you’re weak,” Tom said. “Is that how you took it, Harry?” He touched Harry’s face, his fingers wandering down from the old broom accident scar on his forehead to Harry’s nose and lips and cheeks, and continued touching him until Harry went quiet. “You need a Mind-Healer because the inside of your head must be a horrible place, that’s all.”

Harry took a long breath that it sounded like was meant to cleanse him, and shook his head. “I can barely share what I went through with you, Tom. I’ve heard all about Mind-Healers and how opinionated they are. I don’t want to listen to someone tell me where I went wrong and encourage me to make amends or whatever.”

“Amends?”

“Well, yes. The only person I know who went to a Mind-Healer is my godfather, and she was always encouraging him to make amends with his soulmate and disown the prank he pulled that caused his soulmate to reject him. I don’t want to get told that I should go back to the Order or that I should have come to you earlier or something.”

“You have done nothing that you need to make amends for,” Tom whispered, sliding his hand down Harry’s back towards his arse. Harry flexed his hips and the bond altered, not subtly, but Tom ignored those signals. “I promise that any Mind-Healer who dared to suggest you had would be removed.”

“As in, removed as my Mind-Healer. Not killed.”

“The temptation would be there, but you know for yourself how rarely I resort to murder, Harry.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Fine. I’ll—we’ll see about getting me a Mind-Healer. But later. We have other things to do today, don’t we?”

“I consider nothing more important than you,” Tom said, and wondered why Harry flushed and turned his head to the side.

“I know. But for right now, I don’t want to discuss this further.”

Tom thought about saying that they would never truly abandon a subject as long as the emotional bond thrummed between them, but he didn’t think it wise to press Harry any further on the subject right now. He nodded and stood. “Very well. We’re going to introduce you to the public as the Minister for Magic’s soulmate. Can you bear that?”

Harry laughed and sat up, the sadness of the previous moments falling off his shoulders. Tom wasn’t entirely sure he trusted that, but then he reminded himself how many years Harry had lived while pretending there was some reason that kept him from seeking out his soulmate other than the real one, how many years Harry had lived by lying.

He could do that to the public starving for information about the Minister of Magic’s soulmate, even if he could never lie to Tom himself. It might even prove to be an essential skill.

“Bear it? I’m looking forward to it. To know that I’m yours and you’re mine and that means no one else had better bother throwing themselves at you? Yes, I think it’s _essential._” Harry’s hand slipped into his.

The thought echoed back and forth between them, and Tom took Harry’s chin and kissed him, gently, while another thought arose that Harry might or might not be ready to share.

When they found Dumbledore, Tom intended to taunt him with musings on how the man had inadvertently made Harry an even _better_ soulmate for him than he might have been if Tom had known about him from the cradle.

*

“Welcome, Minister. Welcome, Mr. Potter.”

Minerva hoped that her voice didn’t crack on those words. She had already had a few full days—and nights—preparing to become the Headmistress of the school now that Albus had done…what he had done. Seeing her former student at Minister Riddle’s side shouldn’t be that much of a shock.

“Headmistress.” Minister Riddle sat down in the chair across from her desk, the one Minerva used to use when she was arguing with Albus, and folded gloved hands on his knee, his gaze politely straying around the office. He paused when it reached the perch. “Fawkes is here with you? I would have thought Albus’s phoenix would have gone with him.”

Minerva cast a helpless glance at the perch. Fawkes looked up from his preening to give her a cheerful warble, and went right back to it.

“He—communicated with me in some way when I entered the office for the first time to take up my official position,” Minerva said, and sighed in frustration. It was hard trying to describe it. “I don’t know exactly how. But he said that he remained with the school. That it was his destiny, or some such.”

“How fascinating,” Minister Riddle murmured, and turned to face her. “I suppose you have heard the old theory that phoenixes are creatures of Fate, and not Light?”

Minerva blinked and moved a strand of hair out of her face. “I actually hadn’t,” she admitted. “Not that I think I really know what _Light _means anymore, or else I’ve had it wrong all my life.”

“I have found no evidence implicating you in Headmaster Dumbledore’s crimes,” the Minister said. “You’re wise enough to know that if I had, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

Minerva met his gaze, but said nothing. They didn’t need to argue about that, of all things. “What was the main question you wanted answered today, Minister?” she asked, drawing out the ledger that she’d created to bind the many, many loose pieces of parchment that had been floating around the office. “I’m afraid that I haven’t had the chance to go through all of Albus’s notes yet.”

“There is one class that the Wizengamot has proposed again and again, only to have it shot down by the former Headmaster.”

“I am _not _allowing a Dark Arts class within my school.”

“I don’t blame you. And that’s not the one that I was referring to, in any case.”

Minerva paused. “I wasn’t aware of any other class the Wizengamot had proposed that Albus had turned down.”

Harry spoke for the first time, his voice gentle, an interesting contrast to the Minister’s. Minerva supposed it was too much to hope for that Potter would restrain some of the man’s worst excesses, but it _was _interesting to watch the way Riddle deferred to him when he spoke. “Practical Ritual Magic, Headmistress. It’s a class that the Wizengamot brings up every six months and has had rejected every time.”

Minerva blinked. It was true that she didn’t think many students would take that class. Ritual magic was complicated and required a lot of study, and Merlin knew that most of the students found it hard enough to study for their core subjects. “What was Albus’s reasoning?”

“That not everyone would be able to take the class because not everyone has the same level of strength in ritual magic.” Fascinatingly, Harry was the one who continued to speak. “People who have found their soulmates, or who have the discipline and calm to meditate and clear their minds, are better at it.”

Minerva resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. “Then we shouldn’t be teaching Divination, either!”

“In fact, I do not think we should,” Riddle interjected, his fingers tucked beneath his chin as he leaned forwards. Minerva didn’t think it was her imagination that he had leaned closer to Harry at the same time. “The rare student who actually has visions of the future could be guided into apprenticeships with appropriate practitioners, but there is no reason for a full-blown class that untalented students need to take.”

Minerva blinked. “Then why did you allow one to go on?”

“Dumbledore’s reputation was too secure for me to make all the decisions I wanted to about the school. The best I could do was set up independent departments, like the Transfiguration one that you were the head of, and let those heads make most of the decisions. And Albus Dumbledore was invested in not just a Divination class, but having someone particular as the teacher.”

Minerva scowled. “Sybill is _useless._”

“Yes,” Minister Riddle said. “Unless, I suspect, you are as much a devotee of prophecy as Dumbledore was.”

“Prophecy,” Minerva said slowly. She hadn’t even considered that that might be Sybill’s talent. It was the rarest of the various methods of doing Divination, and most of the people who _did _See the future embedded a vision in what they felt were the right words at the right times, rather than reciting those words involuntarily.

Involuntary prophecy at the right time, though, _would _have explained why Sybill was still at Hogwarts. Minerva focused on the Minister. “Why would he believe so much in a prophecy spoken by someone like _her_?”

“If he wanted to hear it badly enough,” Harry said, “he wouldn’t care where the prophecy came from.”

Minerva stared at her former student, a little startled by the good sense from his mouth, but then nodded. “That much is certainly true.” She hesitated once. “Do you know what prophecy it was that he kept her for?”

“No.” Minister Riddle’s smile was cold, bordering on feral. “I suggest that you summon her here and ask her.”

Minerva paused only a moment before turning to get the Floo powder. Her curiosity, something symbolized rather than denied by her Animagus form, would eat her alive if she didn’t.

*

Tom glanced at him as the Headmistress called into the fire, and raised an eyebrow. Harry could hear his thoughts by barely concentrating on the mental bond. _That was an inspired guess._

Harry tilted his head as he heard Professor Trelawney’s voice coming from within the flames, and barely murmured, “There had to be some reason other than just plain fear why he wanted to keep us away from each other.”

Tom frowned in the way that said he disagreed, but then Professor Trelawney swept through the fireplace and commanded all the attention in the room, the way she usually did.

“Well, Minister Riddle, Mr. Potter!” Trelawney fluttered at them. She had a gauzy scarf wrapped around her hair, and sparkling silver glasses so large that they looked like separate galaxies floating around her face. Harry did his best not to wrinkle his nose at the stream of incense she brought with her. “I hope that you’ve been good boys since your soulmate bond deepened.” She giggled and looked back and forth between them.

Harry reached out and clenched his hand down around Tom’s wrist. He could tell simply by the shift of the magic inside them, never mind the suddenly-frozen emotional bond, that Tom was furious and ready to launch himself out of the chair at Trelawney. Harry gave her a strained smile and shook his head. “We’ve been fine, Professor Trelawney.”

Inwardly, he sent a thought towards Tom. _Are you all right? _Before the completion of their bond, he knew that Tom had sometimes showed his temper in public, but he certainly wouldn’t have had to be restrained from physically attacking.

Tom glanced at him and breathed out softly. The thought came back. _She showed you disrespect._

Harry visibly rolled his eyes and turned back to face the Divination professor as Professor McGonagall motioned her towards a seat. Trelawney chattered about teacups and tealeaves and seeing the future in the stars as she sat down. Harry wondered if she could sense the edge in the air and this was her way of trying to get rid of it.

“Now, Sybill,” Professor McGonagall said finally, “it’s come to my attention that Albus probably kept you on staff because of a certain prophecy you revealed to him. I’d like to know what the prophecy was.”

Trelawney’s eyes widened, and her teacup trembled. Then she clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Minerva, Minerva. I’ve asked you before not to simply _ask questions _about the Inner Eye. It detaches the retina, you know.”

_I can arrange to detach more than that, _said a clear thought from Tom’s side of the room.

Harry leaned forwards and managed to catch Trelawney’s wandering attention. “Was it about us, Professor? Our soulmate bond? If it was, then I’m surprised that Professor Dumbledore trusted you with the knowledge as long as he did.”

He knew he’d laden his voice with just enough skepticism when Trelawney puffed up like a hen. “You would not be _surprised _if you knew the extent of our relationship,” she snapped.

Harry fought back his gag reflex, since he was pretty sure she wasn’t implying what it sounded like she was implying, and just shook his head. “He allowed you to remain here and teach a class that you can’t really _teach, _given that someone either has the Sight or doesn’t. So I suppose I’m not surprised. He seemed like the kind of man to indulge people who told him what he wanted to hear.”

“I did _not _tell him what he wanted to hear! I told him the truth! There was no mistaking his unhappiness with the prophecy!”

“Well, I don’t see how I can do anything but mistake it, unless you’d be willing to tell us this prophecy.”

Trelawney faltered for a second, but Harry sighed and turned to Tom and said, “I was right, there’s nothing here for us,” and that tipped the Divination professor over the edge.

“Fine! I’ll tell you! You should probably know anyway, since it’s turned out to be about you and you unwisely decided to _complete _the bond with your soulmate.” Trelawney scowled at him and then cleared her throat importantly. For a moment, her eyes appeared sharp behind the sparkly silver glasses.

“_When the Dark Lord and the one bound to him come close to completion, the fortress of power will fall, the stones will snuff out life, and the master of serpents will poison the world._” Her voice was a hoarse, echoing whisper that made tentacles of ice whip around Harry’s spine. “_Only equal power joined and commanded can face them, joined of two and commanded by the one who is a leader in disguise._”

Professor McGonagall didn’t look any more comfortable. Tom was still enough that Trelawney began to shake when she glanced at him after she completed her recitation. Harry touched Tom’s wrist, and the emotional bond sprang back to reluctant life.

“Ambiguous as all Divination is,” Professor McGonagall said stiffly, folding her hands on top of her desk. “Give me a good Transfiguration any day. You _know _what its limitations are, and no one mistakes it for destiny.”

Tom cleared his throat with what Harry suspected he was the only one to recognize as a slight laugh. “Indeed, Headmistress.” He faced Trelawney instead. “What year did you make this prophecy in?”

“1981.” Trelawney’s trembling had calmed, but Harry noticed that she hadn’t picked up her teacup again. “The year after Harry Potter’s birth.” Her eyes flickered over to Harry. “Not that I knew whose soul-mark you bore, Mr. Potter._ I _should have recommended a mercy killing.”

Tom hissed. Harry reached down and caught the green serpent that rose up between their chairs from nothingness and pulled it into his lap. The snake struggled for a second, then calmed down. If nothing else, Harry thought, although he didn’t speak Parseltongue now, he knew that the snakes wouldn’t hurt him when they had been partially formed from his magic.

“Do you _want _to be punished as part of the conspiracy that kept my soulmate from my side, Professor?” Tom asked softly. “Under the Joined Fates Laws of 1862, you could be.”

“I already told you that I didn’t know about it!”

Trelawney’s eyes were dark with fear, and Harry didn’t know about Tom, but he was inclined to believe her. He said quickly, “You knew about the prophecy, but you didn’t know that it meant me and Minister Riddle, correct? You didn’t suspect that I was his soulmate? And Professor Dumbledore never told you.”

Trelawney gave her head a shake that made her look as if something was wrong with her neck. “No, no, I knew nothing! He never would have confided in me. He knew that I didn’t want to be part of his _Order._”

Harry just nodded, although he was a little surprised that she knew enough to know the Order’s name. He turned to Tom and opened his mouth, but Tom was still looking at Trelawney, and the emotional bond hovering around them was pregnant with violence.

“I mean it.” Harry pitched his voice low enough that he hoped neither woman in the room could hear, but at this point, he had many fewer concerns if they did. “Calm _down_, Tom. Now.”

Tom turned to look at him in what felt like the ending of a dream. Harry met his eyes, a predator’s eyes at the moment, and didn’t flinch. Tom finally nodded and glanced at Trelawney.

“You can go.”

Trelawney practically fled out the door onto the moving staircase. Harry wondered if that was just because she’d been sitting near it or because her hand was shaking too badly to contemplate using Floo powder right now.

“She will be replaced,” Tom said into the ringing silence that was left.

“The prophecy sounds frankly ridiculous,” Professor McGonagall said at once. “Maybe she made it up to persuade Albus to retain her.”

“Perhaps,” Tom said, although his doubt smelled like a poisonous weed to Harry down their bond. “At any rate, I meant what I said. She _could _be charged under the Joined Fates Laws.”

“I’ve never heard of those,” Harry said. “What do they do?”

Tom glanced at him. “They make it illegal to knowingly keep someone from their soulmate, absent evidence that the soulmate in question has already rejected the other or proclaimed hatred or a blood feud against them or their family.”

“Well, she _didn’t _know. She just made an ill-advised remark. You can’t kill everyone who does that.”

“I wouldn’t be killing her. I would be trying her.”

“Don’t you have enough people in Azkaban?” Harry snapped, leaning forwards, ignoring the wide-eyed way Professor McGonagall was watching him. “And an important trial coming up this week already? Hold back, or I’m going to have to rethink my accommodations.”

“_If you even think of sleeping elsewhere—_”

“I already told you that I was. Don’t you _listen_?”

Tom’s anger pressed at him. Harry pressed back with his own irritation, his own lack of fear. Tom narrowed his eyes. _I’m not lying to you about how much she enraged me._

_Then you should know that I’m not lying to you about how unimpressed I am with your temper._

Tom leaned back abruptly and nodded, his emotions shifting as he tucked them behind what Harry thought of as his “Minister” mask. He faced Professor McGonagall. “Forgive the byplay, Minerva. Our bond is still new.”

“I—see.” Professor McGonagall made a soft sound that would probably have been gasping in anyone else, but Harry had always admired how steady and calm his Head of House was. “Well.” She rearranged some parchments on her desk and then studied Tom. “You’ve come to propose other new classes that Albus and the Board of Governors rejected in the past as well, I understand.”

“Yes.” Tom unfurled a piece of parchment on the desk. “As you can see, the timeline for the rejection of the classes was…”

Harry settled back in his chair, deciding that it was unlikely he would be called on to do anymore for a while. Tom was still eyeing him, but Harry didn’t intend to give him the satisfaction of responding with a facial expression or gesture that Professor McGonagall could see. He responded with an interested, mild look when they talked, and answered a few questions about classes that he had wanted and ones that he thought could be trimmed back from his time as a student.

Even if he knew they would have a confrontation when they got out of here, at least Tom wasn’t going to throw a fit in public, and that was all Harry wanted for now.

*

“You drive me _mad_.”

Tom was only speaking the truth as he crowded Harry against the door of his house. Luckily, Harry hadn’t made good on his threat of going elsewhere. But Tom was still bristling with possessiveness and the desire to drag Harry into bed and sleep on top of him until he forgot about his anger.

“You can feel that all you like,” Harry said. He had his arms folded, but he didn’t look defensive. He looked as though he was regarding Tom from a critical distance. “That doesn’t mean you get to threaten to murder people in public.”

“You’re all right with it in private, then?”

Harry didn’t answer directly, but the stream of _rejection _that curled towards Tom made him blink and release Harry. Harry took a stride and then turned around to face him. “Excuse me for thinking that I was soulmated to someone who was a _politician_,” he said sharply. “As in used to keeping his calm in the face of provocation.”

Tom clenched his hands but didn’t move in to touch Harry. “What I said to Minerva was true.”

“Which part of it?”

“Our bond is new. I want to—” Tom swallowed hard, but the bond had already told Harry what he meant, if the way Harry’s eyes darkened was any indication.

“Well, you _can’t _chain me to the bed and keep me for just you to touch.”

But Harry couldn’t hide his arousal any more than Tom could hide his possessiveness. Tom narrowed his eyes. “Part of you would like that.”

“Yes, but not because you want to keep me from other people. Just because I’d like it.” Harry swallowed roughly and continued, “And we have to appear before the Wizengamot tomorrow as soulmates, and we have to get through Ron and Hermione’s trial that way, and we have to see about the new classes at Hogwarts and the prophecy and capturing Dumbledore and _all the rest _that way. I meant what I said about you changing your behavior, Tom. If it keeps going in this direction, I’ll go back to my parents’.”

“You want me to change everything about myself?”

“Not everything.” Harry sounded weary now, which was the last thing Tom wanted, but he listened as Harry paced back and forth for a minute. “Think about it like this. You made some decisions that probably made sense at the time, decisions that would let you protect yourself or your soulmate when you found them. And now you want to continue those decisions. But you don’t have to, because I’m _here_.” He turned to Tom and reached out to clasp his wrist. “Please. Understand that I’m here.”

“And already talking about leaving.”

“Going to stay with my parents isn’t the same as leaving you forever or leaving you the way Dumbledore wanted me to, and you’re smart enough to know it.”

Tom winced a little under the spark of Harry’s temper, and nodded. “I won’t talk about murdering others in public. I will endeavor to control my behavior.”

“Thank you.”

“But in the meantime, I want you to do something for me.”

Harry nodded, eyes clear and serious and fixed entirely on Tom, while the bond writhed and danced eagerly as if he couldn’t wait to hear what Tom would ask for. “What is it?”

“I want you to admit that you’re a politician yourself.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “I have no problem admitting that.”

“It’s not something you were specifically cautioned against by Dumbledore or the Order, I do believe that,” Tom said, his hand sliding down Harry’s back and tracing circles around his spine. “But I saw your memory this morning. I can feel the thoughts that travel through your head, even the ones that are subconscious. You said that you were _soulmated to a politician_, earlier, implying that you don’t think you are one. And in the memory I saw, you jumped too easily to assuming something was wrong with you instead of other people. I want you to acknowledge your own strength. Doing otherwise will—irritate me.”

“And Merlin forbid that you be irritated,” Harry muttered, eyeing him.

“It doesn’t result in good consequences for other people.”

“I can’t believe you conjured a _serpent _to attack Trelawney.”

“That is one thing I will be trying to change. But one thing to ask yourself is what will irritate me most? You putting yourself down, trying to appease others by making light of your strengths and talents, and assuming they must always be right. That is a deflection technique I believe you have used more than once, including with your friends, when you were lying to them about your soul-mark. But today, in McGonagall’s office…you were handling the others, Harry. It takes intelligence and no small degree of skill to do that.”

A slow look of understanding dawned over Harry’s face. “The kind of skill you think I’ve been taught to despise.”

“You _have _been taught to. And don’t imagine that this kind of conversation or the work I’m asking you to do substitutes for sessions with a Mind-Healer. We will be arranging those as soon as we find a trustworthy one.”

Harry blew out a slow breath and ran his hand through his hair. “Fine. I should have known that after being separated from your soulmate for so long, you’d become a demanding bastard.”

“If you think _this _is demanding, that is something else I want you to think about. Why is it demanding to ask that you live up to your potential?”

“It’s demanding to demand it.”

“You need your vocabulary expanded.”

“The thoughts I’m picking up from you right now have nothing to do with expanding that.”

“Well, no,” Tom agreed, and dropped all the barriers on the bond to watch Harry’s eyes darken again. “But perhaps your repertoire?”

Harry laughed, and they spent the rest of the afternoon expanding that and finding out what both of them liked. Tom tried to sate the burning hunger that had overcome him last night, with the completion of the bond, in Harry’s lips and hands and mouth and body.

At the same time, he knew it would probably not be enough. The completion of their bond had left him more than happy; whether it would ever _satisfy _him was an open question.


	25. Trials

“So you’re the Minister’s soulmate.”

_I win the bet, _Harry sent to Tom as he turned around and gave Arcturus Black an insincere smile. Tom had thought Black would approach Harry with an obsequious attitude, angling to get the Minister’s soulmate on his side. But Harry had thought it would be contempt, because Black would hate the fact that Tom was matched with another half-blood.

“That’s right,” Harry said. “It took some people long enough to acknowledge it.”

That made Black pause and stare at him, obviously wondering if Harry considered him one of those people. Harry drew his lips back to show his teeth and, when he could see Black reaching the point of wondering if that was a smile or not, Harry dropped them back again.

“Including me,” he added, and turned to face the door of the Wizengamot courtroom.

Black reached out and put a hand on his arm. This time, Tom sent only a lightning storm of rage, and for Black’s sake as much as Tom’s, Harry stepped back, shaking his head.

Black sneered. “Too good to have a pure-blood touching you?”

“I’m the Minister’s soulmate,” Harry replied quietly. “How do you think _he _feels about a pure-blood touching me?”

Black’s eyes widened a second before Tom appeared at Harry’s side, one hand digging into his shoulder. Harry zapped him back with unhappiness and pain, and Tom’s hold eased. “Black. Always a pleasure, but not a usual one. Did you have something to say to us before the trial?”

There was a long moment when Harry could feel Black furiously calculating the odds, and then he evidently decided to charge ahead. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for your soulmate to be at the trials, sir.”

“Why not?”

“These people are his friends.”

“I explained to you yesterday how the Truth Crystals worked, Black,” Tom said, his smile and his posture soft and persuasive. Harry was the only one who knew that Tom was eyeing Black’s body, looking for the weak points. “Harry won’t be able to speak less than the truth when he’s in the room with them. And Harry is _not _on trial. I think you’ve forgotten who is.”

Their eyes held for a second, and then Black jerked his head and turned away. Tom smiled coldly, and the bond coiled around Harry like a serpent. “They thought that they would discover my soulmate before I did, and they could use him or her to control me,” he said softly. “They won’t be happy that you stand at my side now.”

Harry blinked. “You were searching as hard as you could for me. Why would they think they’d find me before you?”

“Wishful thinking.” Tom’s hand was firm around his wrist as he guided Harry towards the courtroom again. “They want to have a chain on me. They ignore it most of the time, but whenever they actually remember that a magically-powerful half-blood is in charge of their government, they panic.”

“_Their _government?”

“I told you of the game I have played,” Tom murmured, lowering his voice almost to vibrations against Harry’s ear as they passed through the great arched doors. “It has belonged to them more than to me, at least on the surface.”

Harry squeezed Tom’s wrist and made himself look towards the center of the courtroom. This particular hall was arranged in a huge circle, with three tiers of seats going around all the walls. In the center sat the two chairs, in this case, for prisoners, more like an elongated bench with arms dividing different sections of it from each other. Hermione and Ron sat there, chained with spells more effectively than with physical bonds.

Hermione caught his eye and stared at him with such harsh betrayal that Harry nearly turned away. But Tom’s hand was still there, like a chain on Harry’s wrist itself, and he shook Harry a little.

“Never let anyone in public see your weakness,” he murmured. “And especially not these traitors.”

“Technically they haven’t—”

“They betrayed your friendship.”

Harry grimaced a little and sent the thought to Tom as Tom’s warm hand on his back escorted him to his seat, _Technically the friendship was never what they thought it was. I lied to them all the time._

A sharp pinch to his back showed what Tom thought of that, and also made Harry straighten up just in time to turn and face Madam Moonwell. She had her cane in one hand and eyes so bright that Harry was sure some of it must come from vicious enjoyment. He nodded to her and tried to restrain his scowl at Tom. Tom could feel perfectly well what Harry was going through from the emotional bond, anyway.

“You _are _playing a dangerous game,” Madam Moonwell muttered. “To come in here and flaunt your complete bond in all their faces?”

Harry didn’t know what she was talking about, but he did his best to keep his face open and relaxed, not glancing at Tom. Tom was the one who raised his eyebrows and said in a thin voice, “They never had any hope of finding my soulmate, and most of them had given up trying.”

“But they hadn’t given up thinking that you might not _have _a soulmate, and trying to insert someone they controlled into the position of your lover. And don’t scowl at me, young man, you know it was a common assumption after your soul-mark was burned.”

Harry winced in silence, and Tom sent back a flow of warmth and reassurance. None of that showed in his expression or voice, which were both thick with disdain, as he murmured, “Well, if they tried to kill Mr. Potter, they would find out the error of their ways. Unless you were not hinting at them trying to kill him?”

“Among other things.” Madam Moonwell turned more fully to look at Harry. “And I hope that you’re taking good care of yourself as well as your soulmate, young man.”

Harry shrugged and said, “He makes it difficult. We’re all doing our best.”

Madam Moonwell snorted. “_Some _of us are not,” she said, glancing towards the door, where Black had come in with Lestrange. “But others are.” And this time she turned towards Amelia Bones as she stumped to her seat, although Harry supposed that might have been a coincidence.

“You never said what you were going to do about Bones,” Harry said, mostly under his breath, as he moved beside Tom towards their seats.

“There has to be a trial. She attacked the Minister in front of Aurors. My opponents would scream that I was favoring an ally if I let her off without one.” Tom smiled, an expression that darted across his face like a lizard and into hiding. “But they cannot say anything about me handling her questioning myself.”

“And with the Truth Crystals in the room.”

“Exactly.”

Harry sat down in his seat next to Tom, this time one that looked exactly like every other chair in the courtroom. He found it easier than he’d expected to keep his eyes away from his friends, despite the heat of Hermione’s betrayed stare on his face. He had more interesting things to think about.

_More interesting than your friends?_

That horrified voice in his head sounded more like Dumbledore than Harry was comfortable with. He just nodded and leaned back in his chair, raking the floor and the seats in the gallery with a dispassionate gaze.

More than one person scowled at him or mouthed what looked like a threat, but Harry had a response to that. Tom had agreed that it would be foolish to keep it concealed when everyone would _expect _to see it anyway.

Harry dropped the guards he had maintained for so long on his power. It came rushing out of his skin, battering at the air for a moment in a white-gold corona before it grew towards the ceiling in spikes.

There was utter silence for a long second. Then people started talking again, all the while pretending that the silence hadn’t existed.

Harry smiled and threw one arm over the back of the chair. They might assume that he was drawing on his power joined with Tom’s and had never been that impressive on his own, the duel with Lestrange notwithstanding.

But it hardly mattered. The message was still clear: _You do not want to fuck with me._

And that was all Harry really wanted.

*

“He completed the bond with Riddle.”

Hermione nodded in silent agreement with Ron’s assessment, her own breathing shallow and stricken. She found herself unable to take her eyes from Harry, who sat in the seat that she knew was reserved for the Minister’s _consort_ and blazed with a magic that wasn’t his, could never be his.

“You know,” Ron said after a second, his voice thick and choked with grief, “I suppose part of me never gave up on him. I was hoping—I didn’t _know _I was hoping, but I hoped it was some kind of ruse to fool Riddle. To get close to him and then assassinate him. That Harry hadn’t betrayed the Order’s ideals.”

Hermione sighed, her eyes tracking Harry as Riddle bent down next to him and said something that made him laugh. The open adoration on Harry’s face was something she had never thought she would see there, and she would have given up everything except her soul-bond with Ron to let Harry feel it but direct it towards an _appropriate _object.

“That was never going to work unless he was a much better actor than he is,” she whispered. “Riddle is a Legilimens. He could have known Harry was lying.”

“Like I said, it was a stupid idea.” Ron leaned as close to her as he could get when they were both chained. “But I wanted to believe it. That’s all I was saying.”

Hermione nodded without taking her eyes from Harry. “Yes. I know. But we don’t live in an ideal world, so we have to prepare ourselves to live in the real one.”

“Right.” Ron straightened up again as one of the Aurors shot them a warning glance, which Hermione found nearly as infuriating as Harry’s sudden allegiance to Riddle. Did _none _of them wonder what had driven her and Ron, normal schoolchildren until Professor Dumbledore had recruited them, to rebel against the Minister? Didn’t they wonder what he had done that could be so awful, and want to investigate?

_Well, why should they, when they have comfortable lives under the pure-blood supremacist regime?_ Hermione thought snidely, and returned her gaze to Harry. _And he did the same thing. He gave up his ideals for material comfort and a warm body in his bed at night._

Her hope that Harry would rescue them, as stubborn and blind as Ron’s in the end, flickered and died.

*

Tom watched faces as two of the Aurors who had been present when Madam Bones brought the blood-soaked handkerchief to him and Harry gave their testimony. More than one person looked disgruntled. Others looked bored.

Aelia Malfoy looked alert, and was glancing towards the corners of the room that held the Truth Crystals. Tom was a little surprised that she had deigned to pay enough attention to notice that the Aurors’ reports were unusually detailed and were admitting their own biases as they talked.

At one point she looked straight at him, which Tom thought doubly unusual, until he realized that her eyes were focused on Harry. _Well and so. She can be unworldly, but she can also recognize a threat when she sees one, presented by a half-blood or not._

The second Auror finished her report, and Tom stood with a sigh. “When the Aurors searched Madam Bones’s office, they found this device.” He nodded towards the object like a tuning fork that had been placed in the kind of stasis globe usually used for the transportation of vicious animals in a menagerie. In truth, he had examined it and didn’t think it was dangerous to anyone but Madam Bones—it had been made to resonate with her mind specifically—but he would take no chances.

“How can we prove where the object came from?” That was Lestrange, although he quailed when Tom’s eye fell upon him. Apparently he was still trying to make up for his loss of prestige after the duel with Harry by offering random questions. “I mean—it just seems there’s no evidence to link it to your enemy, Professor Dumbledore, Minister.”

“_Former _Professor Dumbledore,” Tom said, and how he enjoyed saying that. “It’s true that we have no magical signature of his on this handkerchief or Dumbledore here to question him. However, we do have other people who know something important.” He turned towards the doors of the courtroom just as they opened and former Auror Whipwood was ushered inside.

Whipwood walked with her arms linked together behind her back and her head uplifted. She nodded in recognition to Granger and Weasley, sneered at Harry, and sat down in the chair that was provided for her without trying to remove her arms from the tight hold of the magical bindings.

“You’ll get little out of me,” she said. “Vows protect the Order of the Phoenix’s secrets.”

“I want to know where Professor Dumbledore might have found items like the Truth Crystals that now stand in the corners of this room,” Tom said, and nodded to the nearest Crystal in case she had missed them.

Whipwood turned her head to look, and then snapped back around, staring at him. “You _found _them? Where did you _find _them? They were hidden in Hogwarts!”

Tom smiled thinly. It appeared the vows were less restrictive than he’d thought, or perhaps they were simply less restrictive on someone like Whipwood than someone like Granger or Weasley, who had been trusted with important raids and were wanted enough to go on the run with other Order members. “He found them in Hogwarts, then,” he said to the watchful audience. “I see. And why did he never report to the Ministry that he had discovered artifacts so useful?”

Whipwood sneered again. “I don’t know his thought processes.”

“In your opinion?”

“Why _would _he report anything to you, when he knows that you’re planning to launch a secret war that would kill all Muggleborns and most half-bloods?”

Tom sighed, while mutters swept the courtroom. It was their first look at the Order’s unvarnished paranoia, for many of the Wizengamot members here. Other people he’d captured hadn’t known as much as Whipwood or hadn’t had open trials. “And that would include artifacts like the Truth Crystals. I see. What were they originally used for?”

“To prevent students cheating on exams.”

Tom snorted quietly. “And in your opinion, could Professor Dumbledore have found a store of similar artifacts that he would use in other situations?” The question about her opinion was an easy step around some of the Order’s vows, especially with the Truth Crystals to compel someone to speak at length. They might get inaccurate information, but at least it would be _some _information instead of silence.

“He could have found them, but he would use them for only the best purposes, like bringing down an illegitimately-elected Minister.”

“Why do you say that I was illegitimately-elected?” Tom noted more than one person staring at Whipwood in disbelief, which he fully intended to enjoy. His opponents had been desperate, after the second time he won an election, to prove that not that many people would have voted for a half-blood. If they hadn’t managed to uncover anything in their investigations, it was unlikely that an “Order” composed of paranoiacs and fugitives would have managed.

“How else _could _someone like you have won?”

“Who do you think should have been elected instead?” Dumbledore had never been interested in election, which Tom understood—he wanted to keep his stranglehold on children at Hogwarts rather than deal with other adults in the Wizengamot—but neither had he backed any of the candidates who had opposed Tom.

“Someone who wasn’t insane!”

Tom sighed and abandoned that line of questioning. Making Whipwood look _that _mad in front of the Wizengamot actually wasn’t his goal, any more than it was with Weasley and Granger. The Wizengamot would be more inclined to think their testimony wasn’t useful, in that case. “Very well. Have you ever seen this artifact before?” He gestured to the tuning fork, while around him his bond with Harry abruptly shifted into a buzzing alertness. Tom didn’t look at him, but extended a tendril of curiosity.

_Ron and Hermione are staring. They might know something about it._

Tom sent back a frisson of understanding rather than nodding, because for the first time, Whipwood appeared to be struggling not to speak. She lost the battle as the Truth Crystals glowed a little, and blurted, “I haven’t seen that particular artifact before, but I saw something like it in a book that Professor Dumbledore gave me to read.”

“What was that book called?”

Again a struggle, and then, “_Agents of Prophecy._”

More than one person laughed. Madam Moonwell called out, “You mean that tome of nonsense that that madwoman Hilaria Ashenblossom wrote? The one that claims our world is always alternating between two realities, and agents of prophecy run around trying to make one reality permanent? That’s _nonsensical._”

“If Professor Dumbledore believes in it, then it’s not nonsensical!” Whipwood turned her head to glare at Moonwell over her shoulder.

Tom shook his head and turned to his peers. “Well, it seems that she’s given as much useful testimony as she can. Unless someone else has another question?”

Arcturus Black stood. Tom nodded to him, wondering what question Black had thought he could come up with to undermine Tom and Harry and get damning information out of Whipwood—because he wouldn’t have wanted to question her for any other reason.

“Why does your leader believe that Minister Riddle is mad?”

“He’s going to launch a secret war, you idiot! One he’s spent decades preparing for.” Whipwood stared at Black with the kind of contempt that Tom knew would make him bristle faster than anything else. “Have you listened to _anything _I’ve been saying, or is your head too far up your pure-blood arse?”

Black sat down abruptly. “No more questions, Minister Riddle.”

Tom smiled as he turned back to the Aurors who had escorted Whipwood in and nodded to them. They led her out again. She was shouting something about the “secret war” as they did, but honestly, most people had already started whispering to their neighbors or had gone back to looking at the artifact or Madam Bones.

_The more you call me mad, old man, the more I can beat you at your game._

“Votes on whether Madam Bones should be held responsible for her actions?” Tom asked, looking around the courtroom with his eyebrows raised.

The vote went the way he had expected it would, with nearly everyone concluding that Madam Bones should serve no time in Azkaban or even with a Mind-Healer. If the artifact hadn’t been definitely proven to come from Dumbledore, at least there was the high _chance _it had. And more, this kind of anonymous threat meant that nearly everyone in the Wizengamot could see themselves a victim.

Tom wasn’t about to enlighten them that Dumbledore wouldn’t have chosen any of them as victims because he would never trust them as near him or Harry as he had trusted Amelia.

But it didn’t matter. The outcome had been the one he wanted. Now Tom picked up the next stack of paperwork, nodding to Amelia, who had an expression of profound relief on her face, and turning to conduct the real trial of the day.

*

Harry had been ignoring his best friends’ expressions as well as he could. They were looking mainly at him rather than Tom, except when they nodded in support of Whipwood’s conclusions or stared hard at the artifact. Hermione had tried to mouth something to him, but Harry had deliberately avoided looking at her too closely.

Now he would have to speak against them, probably.

Hermione caught his eye again. Harry only raised his brows and glanced over to Tom, who was regarding him with a tilted head. Harry nodded back without being obvious about it, and Tom faced Ron and Hermione.

“Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, you stand accused of murder, attempted murder, damage of Ministry property, and terrorist violence in your actions against the Department of Mysteries,” Tom said. His voice was cold and dry. Harry wondered if anyone else knew exactly how much he was enjoying this. “This body will present the charges. Then you may respond. You have refused the solicitor assigned to you, so therefore you will provide your own defense.”

Harry started. He had assumed that the solicitor simply hadn’t been in the courtroom for the first part of this trial because there was no reason for him or her to be there while they were debating Amelia Bones’s guilt or innocence. But to know Ron and Hermione had _refused _that kind of help…

He caught Hermione’s eye again, but this time she was the one looking away. Hermione sat up and smoothed her hands down her robes, as much as she could move them with the chains of magic on her arms. “That’s right.”

Tom nodded. “This body may present questions on many aspects of the raid. Keep in mind that you may ask for extra time on questions, but you will not be telling less than the truth with the Crystals present.” He looked around the Wizengamot. “Does anyone have any questions for the defendants before the charges are presented at length?”

Harry held his tongue. This sounded unfair, making Ron and Hermione respond to questions outside of their defense, but he knew it was also fully legal Wizengamot procedure. He’d spent a lot of last night reading up on it.

And it was yet another thing that Dumbledore and the Order had never sought to change, even when it might have benefited them if they were captured and tried.

Aelia Malfoy rose to her feet. Harry felt Tom’s surprise like a hidden lightning strike, but Tom nodded. “The Ministry recognizes Madam Malfoy.”

“What was your motivation for making the raid?” Malfoy asked, turning and staring at Hermione. Harry saw the disgust on her face, and wished he had some way of knowing what was the bigotry he wanted to combat and what was contempt for a criminal.

“We thought Minister Riddle was conducting research into time magic in the Department of Mysteries. We had to stop him. He could have won the war forever if he could go back and kidnap or kill key people, like Professor Dumbledore.”

Another mutter swept the courtroom. Harry glanced from face to face as subtly as he could, without moving his head, but it was hard to tell what the members of the Wizengamot believed or didn’t.

Madam Malfoy only stood there as if she was made of stone, which from what Tom had said was her usual way of doing things. “And what proof of this did you have?” she asked.

Ron was the one who answered this time. “Professor Dumbledore said so. He had spies in the Department of Mysteries who told him they were working on time magic.”

Tom’s hand clenched behind his back, but Harry was the only one who had a clear view of his back, so he supposed that was okay. The bond lashed between them like a writhing snake, and Harry swallowed. He resisted the temptation to reach out and touch Tom, though. It would probably hurt more than it would help right now.

“Have you cleaned up these spies in the Department of Mysteries, Minister?” demanded Black.

“Yes,” Tom said, his voice without inflection, but that was enough to make Black blanch and sit down. “Continue asking your questions, Madam Malfoy.”

“How did you ascertain that the purpose of the time magic was for going back in time and unleashing a genocidal war or destroying Professor Dumbledore, instead of what the Minister stated it was for?” Madam Malfoy asked. Her voice was a different kind of blank lack of inflection from Tom’s.

“What purpose was it stated to be for?” Hermione sounded bewildered. Harry studied her face for a second, without letting her see him looking, and decided she was genuinely puzzled.

“For visiting certain points in history and recovering artifacts reported as lost,” Tom said. “Or bringing important people forwards in time who were identified as disappearing or dying of an unknown disease so that they could be either rewarded with a second chance in the future or perhaps cured.”

Hermione snorted. “That’s what you _say_, but we know what it was really for.”

Tom let out a careful sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. Harry wondered for a second how he had learned to be so perfectly manipulative, but of course the answer was obvious. He’d grown up in Slytherin House with a lot of people thinking he was a Muggleborn at first.

_And watching Dumbledore taught me much, _Tom’s thoughts murmured to him.

_You never said that. _

_You have much to learn about me, _Tom said, and ended the mental communication, the way Harry had noticed they needed to do when one of them was speaking aloud. “How did you learn what it was ‘really’ for?”

“Professor Dumbledore told us.”

“And is there any way that you might disbelieve him or that someone else could even falsify the premises of his argument?” Tom asked, letting more emotion leak into his voice.

“Why would we disbelieve the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts has ever seen?” Ron demanded.

Tom sighed and looked at the ceiling. “You realize that the Headmaster of Hogwarts is not normally a _political _position?”

“It doesn’t matter. It became political because he needed to counter _you_.” Hermione’s eyes were afire. Harry stared at her in silence and thought that he had never seen her like this before. He could only hope that he would still judge her reactions accurately. “What matters is that he held meetings with us where he laid out all the proof we’ll ever need about _who you are._”

Tom shook his head and turned to the members of the Wizengamot. “I suspect this diversion has gone on long enough, and we should proceed to the formal presentation of charges. Unless you have any other questions, Madam Malfoy?”

She took long enough to think it over that Harry thought she did, but then she shook her head and sat down.

Tom nodded and picked up the scroll of charges in front of him. “To wit: on the first charge of murder…”

*

Hermione clenched her hands in her lap as she watched Harry. It had been hard to take her eyes off Riddle while he was speaking, and she had hated the unsubtle magic of the Truth Crystals shoving and shoving and shoving at her. On the other hand, what did she have to worry about? It wasn’t like she was ashamed of anything she was saying.

_They _were the ones who should be ashamed. But Harry, at least, was refusing to pay attention to them with the kind of shocked and horrified expression Hermione had expected to see on his face when the charges were read. To accuse her and Ron of _murder _missed the whole point. There was no such thing as a true murder charge or a fair trial under a dictatorship.

Then Hermione shook her head sharply. She had to stop thinking of Harry as their friend. She had to remember the realization she had come to half an hour ago, that Harry had ceased to be their friend when he became the Minister’s soulmate.

Ron tensed next to her. Hermione tapped her fingers sharply on the arm of her chair. They still had something they could do, but she wanted to wait for the sentencing. It wasn’t _impossible _that someone might speak up for them to be spared Azkaban, especially once they heard about the compromise she and Ron were prepared to offer. Hermione didn’t want to give away their main advantage if they didn’t have to.

Ron nodded to her with a sheepish look, and their bond briefly broadcast a feeling of jumping on a trampoline, which was his usual apology. Hermione smiled at him and turned back to face the front. She supposed she should have been paying attention to the list of charges, but honestly, she knew what they were, she knew what the Ministry said they were, and she knew why Riddle was convinced she and Ron were wrong.

It didn’t mean they _were _wrong, or that she and Ron would ever agree with Riddle and Harry.

“Your defense,” Riddle said, and Hermione nodded. Ron would add facts only if absolutely necessary; they had agreed she would handle this.

“First, I want you to know that I can see through you,” she said, staring at Riddle. No one else in the Wizengamot might pay attention to this, and she had lost hope for getting Harry to come back to their side. But she needed to say it because defiance against a dictator was important, and there were people among the Aurors here who might be Order sympathizers if not Order spies.

“See through me?” Riddle asked softly.

Hermione nodded. “All that nonsense about using time magic to fetch people or artifacts from the past? You know it’s nonsense as well as I do. You’re committed to a war against Muggleborns and Muggles because you hate us as a group and Professor Dumbledore personally. It’s a wonder that you’ve managed to fool this many people for so long. You might as well know it doesn’t fool us.”

Riddle’s face was blank. “Your defense against the charges of murder?”

Hermione shrugged. “It’s twofold. First, those people were working for you. They deliberately chose to undertake dangerous and unethical research because they _believed _in your goals. People who work for you aren’t innocents. They’re willingly serving a dictator. And ‘I was just following orders’ has _never _been a defense.”

A muscle twitched in the side of Riddle’s face, but he said only, “The second part.”

“There’s never been a war that was stopped without violence. We were that violence.” Hermione turned and looked around the room, at the silent Wizengamot. Their faces were disgusted as they watched her, but who knew? Maybe the truth and the passion of her words would touch someone here. “We willingly took on the burden of killing, of potentially splitting our souls, for _you_. So that other people didn’t have to do it.”

“Your defense against the charges of attempted murder?”

“The same as before.”

Riddle waited, but Hermione had said all she was going to say. He nodded. “The charges of damaging Ministry property?”

“It’s what you should have expected, _sir, _when you committed the Ministry to the cause of genocide.”

“The charges of terrorist violence?”

“The Order of the Phoenix is only a terrorist group in the propaganda you’ve put out to convince people to follow you,” Hermione said. She was strong now and soaring, thinking of the way she had once seen Fawkes spread his wings in Headmaster Dumbledore’s office. She wanted to fly like that. She was an agent of fate as much as any other. “We’re a _resistance _group.”

“Against what?”

“Your terrorism against Muggles and Muggleborns.”

“Tell me, Ms. Granger,” said Riddle, looking bored and academic in a way Hermione loathed, “what open acts of terrorism have I committed? What raids comparable to the ones your Order has carried out? What murders and what attempted murders?”

“You’ve passed laws that could impact them!”

“I asked you about raids and attempted murders, Ms. Granger, not laws. You care little for laws yourself, seeing as how you’ve broken them.”

“You’re not the government that represents _us_,” Hermione pointed out. “Violence against you is permissible.”

“And what government would represent you?”

“Professor Dumbledore in the Minister’s seat.” Honestly, did Riddle think he could trip her up with questions this simple?

“Which he has repeatedly refused, along with membership in the Wizengamot, even when members of the Wizengamot offered to sponsor him.” Riddle leaned forwards. “Who would you see in my place who is not a currently accused criminal and terrorist leader?”

“_Anyone _would be better.”

Riddle leaned back and said, “The Ministry has no more questions to put to the defendants. Do any of the members of this august body have questions for the defendants?”

Hermione turned in a slow circle, and watched as people stared at her and coughed and mumbled among themselves. She shook her head as she turned back to Riddle. “No one does because of how indoctrinated they are and how much they _fear _you.” She ignored the protests that followed that. They knew it was the truth. If they hadn’t been so indoctrinated, they would have joined the Order of the Phoenix already.

“You are a fine one to talk about indoctrination,” Riddle said quietly.

Hermione stared at him, not knowing what he meant, not really caring. She had made the best case she had, and it was for the people in the audience who might listen to her, not Riddle. He had probably gone beyond listening the day he decided to kill _children _who had hurt him.

Riddle’s smile cramped as if he could read her thoughts from this distance with his Legilimency. Well, let him. Hermione lifted her chin and sat down again, where the chains shot across her arms and held her.

Ron smiled at her. Hermione smiled back. She had done the best she could.

*

_I thought she was mad. But it’s worse than that. She’s just sealed herself away from the world in a way that means there’s no argument that can reach her. She thinks arguing back is a sign that someone’s mad themselves._

Harry rubbed his forehead with one hand. He didn’t know what he should do next.

_You need do nothing,_ Tom’s voice murmured in his head, and then Tom turned to the members of the Wizengamot and said, “There are two sentences available for crimes such as they are charged with: execution and life in Azkaban. Keep that in mind as you vote. Guilty or not guilty?”

There was a wave of wands around the room, and Harry nearly flinched before he realized that they were merely firing sparks into the air, not curses. Then he wanted to flinch anyway. The sparks were almost uniformly black, not silver, the color of innocence.

_You knew it would come to this._

Harry said nothing, but let the emotional bond speak for him. Tom’s hand out of sight twitched this time as if he wanted to reach out and touch Harry. But Harry knew why he couldn’t, and he simply waited until the sparks died.

“Guilty,” Tom said quietly. “Now, black for execution and silver for Azkaban.”

This time, the sparks were much more mixed, but silver dominated. Harry closed his eyes. He wondered if he should feel relieved or not. His friends wouldn’t die, but Azkaban might as well be death in many ways. And if he couldn’t persuade Tom to pass the prison reforms that he wanted soon, there might be…

No way for them to survive as the people he had known.

_Did you ever really know them, with the lies you told them and the ones they told you?_

Harry opened his eyes and stared bleakly at Ron and Hermione. Ron was pale enough that his freckles stood out. He was staring around the room with wide, betrayed eyes, as if he had thought not even the Wizengamot could turn against them with an argument as supposedly sound as Hermione’s.

Hermione’s face gleamed with shock, but then she shook her head and turned towards Ron. She extended her hand, and he extended his, and they clasped wrists. It should have been a simple sign of togetherness in the face of a horrible fate.

But Harry had known them in some way, whatever Tom wanted to imply, for years, and he saw how their gazes locked, how the air around them began to tremble as if they were launching silver sparks of their own.

His alarm reached Tom, who whipped around, at the same moment as silver fire burst out around Ron and Hermione, towards the ceiling and the floor and the walls—

And all of the parts of the room lifted away from each other.


	26. Ties

The way that Tom’s eyes widened told Harry that he recognized the silver storm consuming Ron and Hermione. Even as Harry lifted and wove their magic, rapidly expanding a circle of protection around the Wizengamot to shield the people there, he tugged on the knowledge from Tom’s mind.

_A knot placed in the soul-bond. It could be charged with a single spell and would take effect at the proper time. And it most likely would consume the bond and the people who powered it with it._

Harry’s mouth moved in a deep grimace that felt oddly detached from him. So Dumbledore had convinced Ron and Hermione to place an Ultimate Destruction Curse in their bond. This was like the roof collapse and the “war casualties” story all over again.

But one thing, Harry didn’t mind being the same. And that meant he was going to save everyone in the room.

_Everyone._

The circle of protection was complete in less than a second, and Harry leaped out in the next one, sending a stream of silver power pouring towards Ron and Hermione.

_Harry! What the hell are you doing?_

Harry ignored that, because it was a useless question. Tom knew very well what he was doing. He could read the intent in Harry’s mind and magic and soul, and he should have known before this if he understood at all what sort of person Harry was.

Not just someone to sit back and let people destroy themselves, even if he had given up on his friendship with them. He’d saved strangers. Why couldn’t he save people he knew?

_That shield you set up is going to deflect the magic by sending it back on its casters! You’ll break that shield if you spare them. The energy will have to go somewhere!_

Harry didn’t reply, because he had known that, and he had a plan for that, too. First he encircled Ron and Hermione in the same cool power that he’d flooded the Wizengamot with, and then he began to work.

*

As she dissolved, as her bones briefly caught on fire and the agony overwhelmed her mind, Hermione let herself sink into peace. At least she knew they would destroy Minister Riddle, and that meant millions of Muggles and Muggleborns would be safe. And if the Wizengamot was really as corrupt as Harry had hinted, this was a way to chop off the head of the snake, too. Start fresh, with new members…

The new future that she and Ron would never see. But then, they wouldn’t have seen it from inside an Azkaban cell, either.

Hermione became aware that it was taking longer to dissolve into the pain and the nothingness than she had thought. She opened her eyes with a frown, and then snapped them open wide, staring.

In front of her, where she had thought there would be a wash of light and fire, there was a hovering shape. When she squinted, she thought she could make out the talons and fanned tail of a phoenix, and tears filled her eyes.

Was it Fawkes, come to save them? Or perhaps even another phoenix, an agent of fire and fate who believed they should live to continue the Order’s work?

The bird’s beak opened, and it sang a high, quivering note that made Hermione’s bones creak in sympathy—which reminded her that she _had _bones. She caught her breath. Yes, it had to be a phoenix. No other mortal creature would have the strength to survive this.

But when the phoenix faced her fully, Hermione found herself looking into brilliant green eyes she had seen every day for seven years. Her mouth fell open, and she didn’t know what to do. She could feel Ron hovering behind her, uncertain, but the sensation was dimmed, as if they had already gone part of the way to death.

If they were partway there, they _couldn’t _come back, Hermione thought, calming a little. Not even Harry’s power could resurrect them. He wasn’t an _actual _phoenix.

But the power was sweeping around them, not burning them. Hermione shook her head and frowned. She tried to turn towards Ron to ask him what he thought was happening, but suddenly there was a tightness in her chest, or what was left of it, and she couldn’t _breathe._

There were floating pieces of silver and black in front of her now, and Hermione didn’t understand. What was _happening_? How could this be—gathering them, holding them in, transforming them? She and Ron had _triggered _the Ultimate Destruction Curse. That meant there was no way they could come back.

But she kept seeing the silver and black pieces anyway, not the darkness or the light that should have come along with a transition to the afterlife. She pushed fretfully back into her bond with Ron, not understanding.

_I think that he’s—_

But then the silver and black pieces curled around them in an explosion, and Hermione gasped, and part of her did go fleeting away down the brilliant white tunnel that she suspected led to death. She went willingly. She knew Ron would come with her, as all joined souls did, and they had at least done good in their very last moments.

_More good than most of the people alive in the wizarding world right now have done._

*

Had someone asked Tom, with all his knowledge of magical theory, if what Harry was doing was possible, he would have said no unequivocally.

But here Harry was, _gathering _up the pieces of Granger and Weasley’s soul-bond that the Ultimate Destruction Curse should have broken, and slamming them together, and flying as a phoenix after another one, and snatching it up, and bringing it back. He was keeping the shield he had woven around the Wizengamot from breaking, or destroying Weasley and Granger, by containing the curse that would have impacted it.

Tom had remained a silent observer so far, lending their joined power to the endeavor, but he stirred when he felt Harry’s exhaustion pouring down the bond. _If you continue to try to do this, _he pointed out, _you will have to drop the shield that is guarding the Wizengamot and us._

Harry turned towards him. Tom wasn’t sure exactly how he was “seeing” him right now. It wasn’t physical. Perhaps this was with the eyes of the soul. Harry looked half-human at best, with white talons and silvery phoenix wings coming out of his back. He was panting, and thick blood wound down from a cut on his temple. Tom controlled his rage and listened to Harry’s response.

_They—it’s too much. It’s too easy. For them to do this. To get out of punishment, and—they’re mad, and they were my friends, and I want them back._

Tom nodded, understanding better than Harry would have thought he could, if the flicker of surprise down the bond was any indication. _But you can do this only with my cooperation. If you try to destroy yourself rescuing them, then I will pull back on the magic._

Harry lowered his head and closed his eyes for a second, Power hung around them, contained, and Tom took a moment to study it. He thought he understood, now, what Harry had been doing. Harry had two concentric circles of silver, one on the outside forming a shield that surrounded the Wizengamot, one inside the first trapping the pieces of Weasley and Granger’s bond and bodies from flying too far.

_Let me save what I can, _Harry whispered at last.

_Of course, _Tom said, and watched as Harry spread his talons and his wings and his magic, and collapsed the inner circle in on itself.

The pieces that had been trapped hovered there, then began to funnel back together, and the pieces that had been outside the ring began to soar away. Harry breathed steadily, and the tremors that coursed down their magic would have been invisible to anyone not bound to him.

Tom found himself oddly proud of that. Then he wanted to laugh. Harry was performing a _literally _impossible feat of magic, and Tom was proud of the fact that it wouldn’t have looked nearly as effortful as it was from the outside?

Perhaps some people had a point about his priorities.

Harry clenched his hands together—and they were fully hands again, at least in this formulation, and not talons—and there was an odd, crunching slam, as though they were all inside a lift that had been falling down its shaft and had abruptly been stopped. Then Harry gasped and let the power go.

Tom blinked and found himself standing in the intact courtroom, with Weasley and Granger slumped senseless in their chairs. He studied them with a clinical eye. Weasley was missing a good chunk of his arm, Granger of her hair, and both of them had no left foot. But those were the kinds of injuries common in a Splinching, and St. Mungo’s would be able to heal them.

“You brought them back as good as new,” he muttered, and his stomach tightened. He wondered for a moment if Harry would have taken the same risk for anyone, or if his traitorous friends still held a special place in his heart.

“Not exactly.”

Harry’s voice was heavy and quiet. Tom glanced at him and frowned a little. Harry was leaning forwards with his hands on his knees and his head hanging down between them. Tom reached out to touch the back of his neck. Nothing was streaming to him down their bond at the moment, neither thoughts nor emotions.

_He exhausted himself so much that he can’t even use that magic. _“Their injuries are bloodless and can be healed.”

Harry swallowed and replied without trying to lift his head. “But they buried the curse in their bond. They used the bond’s reservoir of magic to launch it. I—I brought back their bodies and their minds, but I couldn’t save their bond.”

Tom blinked. He had never heard of such a situation. There were people who died when their bond was severed, especially if it was newly complete, and sometimes people who died even if they had never met their soulmate when their mark became black-lined. But he didn’t know what would happen if the bond was ended for two people at the same time and they were both still alive.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t even think about using them in experiments of some sort, Tom. I won’t allow it.”

“You can’t feel anything down the bond from me right now,” Tom argued, because he was sure that was still true. He sat down next to Harry and conjured a cloak for him. As he had thought would be the case, Harry was trembling as much with cold as with exhaustion. His skin felt slick and icy to the touch.

Tom cast a Warming Charm as Harry tilted his head to look up at him a little and nodded. “But I know the way your mind works.”

Tom shrugged. “Well, I will not be putting them in the Department of Mysteries. But an opportunity has presented itself that we didn’t have before.”

“Yes?”

“With their magic entwined with their bond like that, they are likely to be little better than Squibs. I am willing to let them live in the Muggle world if they take certain vows not to act against my regime again.”

“What about—they committed murder and all that?”

Tom snorted. “I think the loss of magic worse than the loss of life, Harry, although I know not everyone will agree. And the Wizengamot already voted against execution.” He ran his hand gently down Harry’s neck and through his hair. “On the other hand, if they refuse to take the vows, it’ll be Azkaban in any case. The Wizengamot might prefer that since they don’t have the magic anymore to take the kinds of magically binding oaths a wizard would. Squibs can be bound, but not as tightly.”

Harry sighed and leaned against him. “I know that you’re letting this happen because it’s me and because you don’t care that much anyway, but thank you.”

“You fought so hard to save their lives,” Tom said lightly. His hand tightened on the back of Harry’s neck for a second. “Would you do it for anyone who was being destroyed in that same way? Or only for them?”

“I’d do it for you,” Harry whispered. “Sirius. My parents. A couple of the other people I grew up with, I think, although I’m not nearly as close to them since we left Hogwarts. But—not for everyone.”

Tom nodded, satisfied. It was good to know that his soulmate wasn’t _that _ridiculously self-sacrificing. The shield he had created for the Wizengamot was a different matter, since it had saved his life and Tom’s as much as anyone else’s. “Go to sleep, Harry.”

“I want to be there when Ron and Hermione wake up.”

“This time, I’ll ask you for something. _I _don’t want you there.”

Harry pulled back and studied him for a moment. “I won’t do anything else to try and save them. I don’t even know what I could do.”

“I know. But they’ve hurt you enough, and you made an enormous sacrifice for them.”

“I didn’t die. We didn’t lose any of our bond or our magic.”

“But you know we _could _have.”

Harry continued to study him. Tom didn’t move and kept a calm smile on his face. He would be as gentle with Harry as he needed to be, but he _deserved _to have this much after the risk Harry had taken.

Harry abruptly blew out his breath, and their bond flickered back to life between them, as gentle and fragile as the blue flames that sprouted whenever Tom touched his mark. He leaned up to kiss Tom, and his amusement and awe and _greed _danced through the air so thickly that Tom blinked in shock.

_Even now, I can’t believe someone would fight like that for me. I let this moment stretch longer than I should have because I wanted to feel it. Sorry._

Tom kissed him back, and then turned to the dazed members of the Wizengamot, keeping one hand on Harry’s shoulder, while he gently tugged at the silver shield to collapse it. Given that _he _wanted to be the one who gave Harry everything that he had been denied for years, the slip was more than forgivable.

*

Hermione opened her eyes slowly, and then sat up as fast as she could—which turned into a grunting fall when she realized that magical bonds linked her to the hospital bed beneath her the way they had to the chair in the Wizengamot courtroom.

_What the hell is going on? _

She felt oddly dull and muffled, both in her senses and in her mind, as if she had been given one of a number of sleeping draughts. But she _seemed _to be wide awake. She turned to the side and saw that this looked like one of the healing wards at St. Mungo’s, with Ron asleep on a bed next to her.

Hermione probably stared at him for a full five minutes before the next strange thing hit her.

She couldn’t _feel _him.

Hermione’s heart leaped to drumming life in her ears, and she tried to lunge off the bed. It didn’t matter. The magical bonds tightened and pulled her back flat, and then she was breathing hoarsely, hands clamped over her mouth. She felt as if she was about to throw up.

They couldn’t have—they couldn’t have _severed _the bond. Not really. Otherwise either she or Ron or both of them would be dead. It was what happened with full-bonded partners.

She raised a shaking hand and reached towards him, although the bond around her wrist snatched her hand back to the mattress before it went too far. “Ron?”

“He’s alive.”

Hermione jumped and nearly shrieked. Then she glanced over to find Riddle, smooth bastard that he liked to present himself as, sitting in a chair near the wall with his legs crossed. He smiled when he saw her looking at him, and proceeded to stand and stretch, his arms rippling and shrugging and shaking, as if he was getting up after a long nap.

“How do you feel, Miss Granger?”

Hermione ignored the mock-solicitous question. “What did you do to us?” she demanded. “Reverse it right now!”

“Ah, well, that would require breaking all the laws of magic and conducting some sophisticated research in the next second,” said Riddle, in a voice someone might have mistaken for sympathy if they couldn’t see his cold eyes. “You see, no one has ever been in the situation you were in before, where you buried an Ultimate Destruction Curse in your bond but managed to survive it. The Healers have been beside themselves as they work to keep you alive and understand what happened. It’s quite an exciting opportunity for them.”

“You broke our bond because you hate us.”

The next instant, she gasped, because it felt as though the cold coils of an anaconda were wrapped around her. Riddle smiled, but that was worse than him not doing it.

“You are alive with your bond broken because my bondmate strained his magic to the limits to keep your bodies and minds from flying apart.”

Hermione looked wildly around the room, but didn’t see Harry. She stared back at Riddle, and had to drop her eyes. His cold ones were too unpleasant to meet.

She licked her lips and managed to swallow. “And you let us live?”

“The Wizengamot did not vote for execution.”

Hermione closed her eyes. “I wish you had let us die. I wish—I don’t want to be alive if I don’t have my soul-bond with Ron.”

“Strange,” Riddle said, his voice so light that Hermione really should have expected the verbal knife that came chopping in next. “You being unwilling to lead the kind of existence that you would have condemned Harry to for the rest of his life.”

“We didn’t know his soulmate was _you_.”

Hermione thought she had managed to put sufficient venom in her voice, but it splashed against Riddle’s mental defenses and collapsed as if it was water. Riddle chuckled and shook his head. “But once you did, you didn’t want him to bond with me. Don’t try to hide behind lies and evasions, Granger. After all, you were willing to destroy the entire Wizengamot, the entire government of the wizarding world, in order to prove a point.”

“The government that wasn’t democratically-elected!”

“Which was a point so minor to you that it hadn’t even occurred to you until Harry told you.” Riddle folded his hands behind his back, while Hermione reached for the bond with Ron again and again, and crashed against the bloody muffling of her senses, and fought tears. “And what would have happened to the wizarding world with no government?”

“Freedom!”

“Chaos.” Riddle gave her a smile that Hermione also had to look away from. “Of course, that would be a minor point to you, considering that you had decided you wouldn’t be alive to see it.”

Hermione lifted her chin. “It was a pleasure and an honor when Professor Dumbledore asked us to put the curse in our bond.”

“I’m sure it was.”

Riddle turned, acting utterly uninterested now, and nodded to Ron. “You can wait for him to wake up. He’s fine, physically. Then I’ll have you both take the vows to never act against my regime again, and you can live in the Muggle world. The Wizengamot agreed that was a reasonable compromise, considering…everything.”

His voice made Hermione’s mouth fill with bile. “What are you talking about?”

“Haven’t you noticed?” Riddle’s eyes glittered at her. “Well, of course, it’s harder to notice an absence than a presence.” He waited, and Hermione clenched her fists in the bedsheets, and finally lost her temper and answered him.

“I know that you stripped Ron and me of our bond!”

“Not that. The Wizengamot will argue for a while about the wording of the vows that should be used, but we’ll doubtless find some that are strong enough to bind a Squib.”

Hermione reeled back in the bed, her hand over her mouth. “You can’t—you _can’t_—”

“I didn’t take your magic,” Riddle said, his voice horrifyingly gentle. “You did that yourselves, with the aptly named Ultimate Destruction Curse. I don’t know of any cases where someone buried it in their bond and survived, so the loss of your bond was a surprise, but there have been a few cases where someone cast the curse fueled with their own magic and lived. They were always Squibs afterwards. How could you think your magic would survive?”

Hermione tried frantically to reach for her power, to make the slightest spark sing along her veins, and couldn’t. There was only that odd muffled sensation.

“And that you live,” Riddle said, “that you are able to go into the Muggle world alive at all, is because of my bondmate.” The possessive tone in his voice would have disgusted Hermione under other circumstances, but barely registered now. “There has never been a case of someone reversing an Ultimate Destruction Curse or containing one, but there is now. Because, despite everything you did to him, he loves you that much.”

“And you—you let him use that magic.”

“In the moment, I don’t know that I could have prevented him without suffering for it.” Riddle shrugged. “But yes, I let him do it, and the only condition I made was that he rest when he was magically exhausted and not come near you for now.”

“Why not?” Hermione’s voice was so low that she honestly didn’t know what she was feeling herself.

“Because you’ve done enough, don’t you think?”

Riddle turned and vanished out the door of the room. Hermione was left staring after him, and then she gulped and looked over at the bed beside her with Ron still resting obliviously in it.

There was a realization pressing against the gates of her mind like someone pounding on a door. Hermione resisted it for a long time, not even consciously sure what it was, only knowing it would hurt.

And then it burst in, the gates fell, and she couldn’t lie to herself anymore.

_Harry still loves us. Riddle let him use that magic to save us._

Hermione buried her head in her hands and began to weep, while the rest of her thoughts traced out a relentless course. If Harry loved them, then he wasn’t completely evil, and he wasn’t as opposed to the goals of the Order as Hermione and Ron had thought.

And if Riddle had let Harry do this, then he was capable of mercy.

Hermione shuddered again and again, so lost in sobs that she didn’t hear Ron when he began to wake up. He had to practically shout to get her attention. “Hermione! What’s going on? And—why didn’t I _know_?”

Hermione swallowed and turned to him, holding out her hand. Ron reached across the distance between the beds and clasped her wrist, and Hermione vaguely registered that the magical bonds tying them to the beds were long enough to permit that to happen—not something she would have expected.

Ron was staring at her, on the verge of panic, and Hermione had no doubt he was both trying to sense her thoughts and emotions and sending her his as hard as he could. She took a deep breath, and began to explain.

She would wait longer to explain the devastating revelation that—while she didn’t doubt Riddle had horrible goals and she resented the fact that Harry was going along with them—they had been wrong about how evil both of them were.

_And what else does that mean we’ve been wrong about?_

*

“How is he?”

“No change since you were last here, Minister.”

Tom nodded shortly and sat down beside Harry’s bed. Honestly, it was the best news he could have expected. Harry was resting, still cradled in the magical slumber that both the Healers and Tom had renewed, and that meant he wasn’t expending magic saving a kitten stranded in a tree or something.

Tom sighed. The sneering tone to his own thoughts was one he was no longer comfortable with. He reached out and smoothed down Harry’s hair, tumbled across the pillow his head rested on.

_A few weeks, and you’ve changed me._

The miracle who had changed him slept on, lips slightly parted. Tom knew the magical sleep was more or less impervious to interruptions, but he did turn sharply when he heard footsteps in the corridor outside. The surrounding rooms had been cleared of patients so that Tom’s Aurors could stand guard.

But it was Harry’s parents who pushed into the room, followed by Black, who avoided Tom’s eyes. Lily Potter marched right to Harry’s bedside and stared at Tom. Tom raised his eyebrows, but also raised his body, moving out of the way so she could sit down in the chair.

James gave him a quietly hostile glance and asked, “How is he?”

“Magically-exhausted,” Tom said. “And recovering.”

“What did he do that made him so exhausted? I thought after you—bonded—that no task was hard enough for him anymore.”

“He saved his friends when they tried to blow up the Wizengamot courtroom and probably most of the Ministry with an Ultimate Destruction Curse buried in their soul-bond,” Tom said mildly, and he did enjoy watching the way James Potter’s face changed. “He saved the lives of everyone in the room, although he couldn’t save his friends’ bond or their magic.” Tom shrugged. “Better that they live and go as Squibs into the Muggle world than stay in the wizarding one, even in Azkaban.”

James was silent. Lily had reached out and laid a hand on Harry’s forehead and was talking to him softly. Black fidgeted about for a second, then asked, “How did Albus convince Ron and Hermione to put a curse like that in their soul-bond? I thought—they were always good kids, not suicidal. I didn’t think they would have agreed to that.”

“Perhaps Dumbledore has more of a hold over them than he did you,” Tom said. “You’re older, and two of you had a child, which does change your priorities. Weasley and Granger are absolute fanatics. Being young and self-important can do that to you.”

“They were important,” Black said, his eyes downcast. “I mean, Hermione Granger’s one of the most brilliant people I’ve ever met. And Ron Weasley was a strong magical presence and a strategy master.”

Tom snorted before he could help himself. “You believe that Albus Dumbledore would allow someone else to plan his strategy?”

Black hesitated for a moment. Then he said, “And you think he would be that blind to where his advantage might lie?”

Tom nodded shortly. “I don’t think that he trusted anyone but himself. You, as members of the Order, were pawns.”

“And, of course, _you_ would never do such a thing.”

James was determined to argue with him, it seemed. Then again, Harry had survived and the problem of his friends was solved. Tom didn’t feel much anger in himself as he gazed at Harry’s father. “Of course I would. But I didn’t create a group of people that I deliberately isolated from the rest of the world, infected with the conspiracy theory that they were fighting against a secret war, and praised as the only good people left.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Yes, it was,” Tom said peacefully. “And even you think it was, or you wouldn’t have come away.”

James turned from him with his jaw clenching, and focused on the bed. Tom just nodded and turned to leave. He didn’t think Harry’s parents and Black would hurt him or try to sneak him out of hospital.

“Riddle, wait a minute.”

Black was walking after him. Tom nodded and turned to wait in the corridor, leaning against the wall. Black stood in front of him with his hands stuffed in his robe pockets and his eyes on the floor.

After a minute of that, Tom sighed impatiently. “Was there something you wanted, Black? I do have a country to run and a Wizengamot to reassure.”

Black started and glanced at him. “I—Harry said something about how you want him to see a Mind-Healer.”

“Of course I do. The aftereffects of growing up thinking he was evil because of something he was born with, if nothing else, merit that he sees one.”

Black swallowed noisily. “Do you think.” Then he apparently reached the end of that sentence and had to start over. “Once some of the legal ramifications are sorted out. Do you think you could arrange for me to see a different one, as well?”

Tom tilted his head. Well, he hadn’t anticipated _that _request. But he nodded. There was no reason to refuse it, much like there was no reason not to leave Harry alone with his family. “Of course.”

“You’re really _not _as merciless as Dumbledore says.”

Tom laughed before he could help himself. “Was that remark about wanting to see a Mind-Healer a test? To see what I would say?”

“Partially. But I’m beginning to think it would do me good. I just have—too much anger, and I’m afraid sometimes that I might lash out and…”

“If you hurt Harry, then you know that’s the end.”

Black nodded with a pensive look on his face, rather than the frightened or outraged one Tom would have expected. “I know. And I never want to do something like that to him. Thanks, Riddle.” Then he turned and wen back into the hospital room.

Tom shrugged and kept walking. The bond between him and Harry was flickering softly, like candlelight, and that was all right with him. At least it was coming back to life, and for right now, neither memories nor his exhaustion were distressing Harry. He might even get an apology from Granger, though Tom wouldn’t hold his breath for it.

Amelia Bones met him the minute he came through the Floo into the Ministry. “Where _were _you?” she demanded. “They’ve been looking for you all over! We have a situation on our hands.”

“Which one is that?” Tom asked pleasantly as he fell into step beside her. He could think of several that might be exploding at the moment.

“Some of the Wizengamot members are demanding that your soulmate register exactly how powerful he is. They say that he’s saved two buildings full of people now, and the registration should have been completed after the first one, but it wasn’t, and they want to know why.”

Tom felt his lips twitch. In truth, he thought, the members of the Wizengamot were probably much more annoyed at owing a life-debt to a half-blood. Even if they tried to claim that they owed Tom a life-debt instead since he and Harry shared magic, they would have to acknowledge that the intent to save them and the power that did so were Harry’s.

_Most of them know me well enough to realize it’s the last thing that would occur to me._

“Very well,” he said, and sped up a little when he got a chiding look from Amelia.

*

Molly stared at the front page of the paper and then leaned back against Arthur and closed her eyes. His arms were around her in an instant, and the contented, warm thrum of their bond surrounded them both.

“I never knew they were so far gone,” Molly whispered. “Did we really not love Ron enough, that he would have sought distinction like this?”

“I don’t think this was about distinction.” Arthur’s voice had something broken in the back of it, and Molly could feel his pain in their bond as well, dancing like lightning for a moment before he consciously pulled back, trying not to hurt her. “I think it was about believing in a leader and following him blindly wh-whether or not he should have.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Molly said. “But then I still don’t know why we didn’t _see _it.”

“We’ve been exiles so long, Molly. And you know that a lot of it must have happened at Hogwarts, where we wouldn’t have seen it anyway.”

Molly nodded slowly. She had also prided herself on raising their children as independent thinkers, so it wouldn’t have been as though she was watching for signs of this in Ron. But perhaps she should have questioned Bill more closely about why he’d rejected the Order.

“So what do we do now?” Arthur whispered.

He had been the one who had made decisions like swearing to the Order first and when to complete their emotional bond. But he had left up to Molly other decisions, like how many children to have and how to teach them when they were still at home.

Molly stood and turned to face him. “We can’t do anything about Ron and Hermione having lost their magic and their bond, or being exiled to the Muggle world.”

Arthur nodded, sorrow and understanding in his eyes. Molly sighed, grateful that she wouldn’t have to argue with him about it.

“So what we need to do now is discuss the terms of our surrender, keeping in mind that it won’t be to save our son and daughter-in-law.”

“Does it have to be surrender?” Arthur asked, the way Molly had expected him to ask. His hands were restless on her shoulders and in her hair. “I mean, I know that we can’t keep on as we have been…but our neutrality….”

“Do you think they’ll believe it, after how fiercely we fought them when we were part of the Order?” Molly kept her voice as gentle as she could. She knew Arthur was suffering.

Arthur closed his eyes. Then he shook his head a little.

Molly nodded back. “So we’ll do what we can, and we’ll try to make sure that the terms of our surrender are as favorable to our other children as we can. We just need to give up any idea of saving Ron and Hermione.”

She did find it hopeful that Riddle hadn’t killed them yet. That might mean Harry was beginning to temper him, the way Molly had wondered if he might be able to.

“What about Albus?”

“What about him?” Molly turned around fully to look at Arthur, and ignored the hesitant tremble of his fear that she could feel in the back of her mind. “I don’t see why we should have any loyalty left to him after the way he used Ron and Hermione, and the way he’s probably _disappointed _that things didn’t work out the way he wanted them to.”

“I didn’t mean that. I just meant that we have some secrets that aren’t bound by the Order’s vows. Are we going to give those up?”

Molly sighed. Those secrets mostly concerned the way that the refuge for the Order had been constructed, and some of the investigations into the Muggle world that they’d done which Albus had pointed out could turn up evidence to show that Riddle’s secret war was about to begin.

But Molly herself didn’t see that much valuable in them. She and Arthur had been one part of establishing the refuge, but not a whole part. Even if she turned over all the notes that she’d made to Riddle, he wouldn’t be able to reconstruct what the Order had done without capturing everyone who had participated.

“I was going to use them to buy us some consideration,” she said quietly.

Arthur closed his eyes in pain. “This isn’t the world I want to live in,” he whispered.

“I know.” Molly touched his hand, and did her best to pour soothing calm over their bond, which was vibrating between them now like an Augurey’s feather in a windstorm. “I wish there was something we could do that was different, something that would _make _a difference. But things didn’t turn out the way we wanted them to, and some of it may never have been real. And Albus has abandoned us. We have to make the stand that we can to save the rest of our family.”

She didn’t get a response from Arthur at first, but she hadn’t really expected to. She just kept lightly touching his hand, lightly feeding him confidence, and finally Arthur nodded and whispered, “Then let’s do it.”

Molly went to gather up her notes and pack the clothes and other things they wouldn’t be able to easily replace. She hoped the joy that swirled up from her side of the bond didn’t distress Arthur too much.

After over six years of exile, they were finally going _home. _


	27. Promises

“How do you intend to claim your life-debts, Mr. Potter?”

Aelia Malfoy’s words were so distant and unconcerned that Harry could have thought she was speaking of someone entirely unconnected to herself. But he saw the savage way that her hand pinched the edge of her robes down near the side of the chair, and how even the soft, soothing sound of tree branches swaying in the background didn’t appear to calm her.

“I have something in mind,” Harry said. They were sitting in the enchanted room off Tom’s office that he apparently had woven all these illusions of being outside around so that his enemies would spill more of their secrets when they were here. A table disguised as a tree stump sat between him and Madam Malfoy, and Harry picked up his teacup and sipped from it.

“Why have you not told anyone what it is?”

“Because I think speaking to people on an individual level is better,” Harry said. “Some of the repayments will be the same across different families, but others will be individual.” He nodded to her. “Yours is one of the ones where I want you to think carefully before you refuse my payment.”

“A gentleman would not ask a lady to do something she finds personally distasteful.”

“Oh, in a matter of life and death, he might,” Harry said. He’d thought about saying that he wasn’t a gentleman, but Tom had cautioned him that the pure-bloods he had to deal with would seize any chance they could to place him beneath them. The last thing Harry should do was _willingly _give up any relative status. “And I need you to think of me as someone who cares more about what you can do for me, and how you can repay the life-debt, than someone who wants to protect you.”

Madam Malfoy gave him one of those bright, blank stares that seemed to be her specialty in the Wizengamot. Frankly, Harry thought they were overrated. He went on sipping his tea, and tried one of the small pieces of shortbread that Tom must have ordered the house-elves to bring, because Harry certainly hadn’t asked for anything like them.

“What do you want from me?”

Harry smiled at her and slid a piece of parchment across the stump-disguised table to her. “Please read this.”

Madam Malfoy’s mask fractured a little, into what seemed to be shining pieces of glass, as she read. Harry was glad that _something _could break it, anyway. “What is this? It appears to be a simple list of numbers.”

“Arithmantic calculations measuring certain levels of power among the students who entered Hogwarts in the last year,” Harry said calmly. That was one of the reforms Tom had pushed through which Dumbledore hadn’t been able to combat. Harry assumed it had probably happened after he was a first-year, though, or Tom would have known about Harry’s power a lot sooner. Or maybe Professor Dumbledore had had a word with the Sorting Hat.

The thought made Harry’s chest ache, but he pushed through it, knowing what a sign of weakness in front of a pure-blood would do to him right now. “Are you familiar enough with the Arithmancy to determine which ones are the strongest?”

Of course, Madam Malfoy was one of those people who wouldn’t admit she didn’t understand something, so she tossed him a scathing glance and bent over the parchment. A few minutes later, she raised her eyebrows. “The calculations that indicate those who are strongest appear to be randomly scattered, but it is clear that there are a quarter of them that stand out above the rest.”

“A quarter,” Harry said meaningfully. He waited to see if she would volunteer the knowledge on her own, but she treated him to another glare. Harry smiled. “That corresponds to roughly the number of Muggleborns in the wizarding population of Britain.”

Madam Malfoy jerked back from the parchment, but pinned it in place with a hand so it didn’t flutter to the floor. Then she shook her head. “I refuse to believe that every _single _strongest student in the last autumn term was a—”

“Not a very good politician, are you,” Harry said softly, his eyes fixed on her, “if you had to take a minute to think about the word?”

Madam Malfoy spent a moment fussing with the edge of her sleeve, something Harry doubted she would have done if they were in public, or even just the Wizengamot chamber. Then she met Harry’s eyes. “Not every single one of them was Muggleborn.”

She at least said it without a sneer. Harry decided that was enough, and nodded. “No. Two of them were pure-bloods, and three were half-bloods. All of the others were Muggleborn.”

Madam Malfoy stared at him. Then she said, “There is no _reason _that would cause that. If blood does not matter, as I believe you are attempting to suggest to me, then more of them should be pure-bloods and half-bloods.”

“There is a reason that would cause it. Tell me, Madam Malfoy, are you aware of how closely related most of the pure-blood families are?”

Madam Malfoy arched an eyebrow. “Of course. Just as I am aware of how many powerful wizards and witches there are among my peers.”

“Then you’re probably aware of how many people in your parents’ generation married _out_.” Harry had thought Madam Malfoy would sneer, but instead, she turned pale. Harry honestly couldn’t tell if she had known or not. “Married half-bloods, married Muggleborns, or married people who had previously been called blood traitors. There was a law passed two years before you were born, wasn’t there? Declaring that calling someone a blood traitor in public could be punished with a duel right then and there. The duel didn’t have to follow the usual restrictions. I thought it was curious when I first read about it, especially since the law was struck down twenty years later, but now I know. Some of the people who married supposed social outcasts didn’t want their spouses taunted.”

Madam Malfoy was giving him a frankly wary look. “And that means…”

“When you intermarry too closely, one of two things happens,” Harry said, thinking of the way that Sirius had told him about the Black family. “You get unstable children, or you get Squibs.”

“That is _not _true. No one knows what causes Squibs!”

“Not down to the point of being able to name the cause,” Harry admitted. “And it’s true that some Squibs are born to families that also have magical children. But those families that have non-magical children at all also are the mostly closely intermarried ones.”

Madam Malfoy sat still. She’d gone back behind that glacial mask again, but perhaps simply because he was sitting close to her, Harry could see the way her nostrils flared.

“And what do you intend to have me do with these supposed revelations, Mr. Potter?”

“Start spreading the truth of them.” Harry shook his head when she opened her mouth. “I’m not asking you to change the kind of person that you are. That’s obviously impossible.” He smiled a little at the expression that crossed her face then. “Frame these conclusions however you want. Talk about how _unexpected _it is that Muggleborns show this kind of power, sigh about how there just aren’t enough polite younger people nowadays, remind people that the law saying calling someone a blood traitor was a duel-worthy offense existed. I don’t really care how. But spread the word.”

“That will damage my reputation.”

“As what?”

“As a Malfoy!”

Harry waited until she had calmed down enough to listen to him and said, “The most important thing is that other people know the facts I’ve just laid out for you. But you damaging your reputation…” He smiled. “That’s also part of the point.”

“Why would you want to take this kind of revenge on me? My family has not hurt your family personally.”

“You’ve hurt Muggleborns and half-bloods and Muggles by promoting the kind of nonsense you do,” Harry said quietly. “That’s personal enough for me.”

Madam Malfoy had managed to get control of her facial features and her voice by now. “You cannot change the world. Not in the way you think you can. You are not strong enough. We are too entrenched.”

“By myself, no. And I’ve seen how useless force is when it’s something like the Order of the Phoenix. But with Tom on my side, and a whole bunch of the most bigoted people having to do what I tell them, I think it’s easier.”

*

“Did she glare at you when you said that?”

“Of course she did.” Harry grinned at Tom. He was leaning back with his feet on Tom’s desk, his chair tilted so it was on two absurd legs. He had given up on waiting for Tom to say something about that, which was good, because on that matter Tom lived to disappoint. “But I don’t really know why everyone found her so frightening. Her mask has all these cracks in it if you look closely enough.”

“Cracks, I think, that you put there.”

“Yes, but cracks that are _possible. _Everyone acted like they weren’t.”

Tom chuckled and gave in to his desires, coming around the desk to touch Harry’s forehead, over his old faded scar from a broom accident. “It might have taken someone coming from the outside to see them.”

“Maybe.” Harry’s eyes were dark and full. He tilted his head back and then murmured, “We can’t—in the middle of the Ministry.”

“I know,” Tom said. It was enough for him to know that his soulmate _wanted _to, the heavy waves surging between them, and he might even have tried for it with a door that locked more strongly or less urgent business on hand.

As it was, he had something to tell Harry that Harry wouldn’t like at all. He stepped back, and Harry’s face shut down. He had already received the foreboding of what Tom would say through their bond, then.

“What is it?”

“I want you to listen to me, not just reject it right away,” Tom said.

“I _am _listening.”

Tom raised his eyebrows in polite doubt, and then murmured, “I’ve found a Mind-Healer that I’d like you to visit.”

“What makes this one so special?”

“He specializes in dealing with patients who have encountered opposition to their soul-marks from friends and family. Most often pure-bloods who found out they had Muggleborn soulmates, but there are other cases, too.”

“And you think that he’ll be able to talk to me in detail about the Order without scolding me about it?”

Tom paused. That hadn’t been an objection he’d anticipated. “What do you mean?”

“That he won’t take me to task for having acted with a _terrorist _group. That he won’t spend so much time on that he’ll sort of _forget _to help me with the soul-mark part.”

Tom trailed his hand down Harry’s cheek, and Harry made a soft sound and closed his eyes in pleasure. “I promise that other people won’t despise you for that,” Tom whispered. “I saw that memory of you when you were a child and asking your mother about whether your soul-mark made you evil. Your Mind-Healer will understand the way you were raised.”

“My mother was doing the best she could.”

Tom made a noncommittal noise, but Harry narrowed his eyes, probably at what he was getting through the bond. Tom stepped back with his hands in the air. “The Mind-Healer will help you sort things like that out.”

After a second, Harry’s agitated stare cooled, and he looked away, at the same moment as something like soft water poured through their bond. “Sirius said that he talked to you about finding him a better Mind-Healer, too.”

Tom nodded. “I believe that the conflict going on in his head will do no one any good.”

Harry snorted. “Is that a nice way of saying that you don’t want him to oppose you?”

“I doubt I could get him to see things the way I do no matter how long a Mind-Healer worked with him. But if he remains as impulsive and torn between loyalties as he is right now, he might do something he has cause to regret.”

Harry grimaced, and the shiver of fear in his mind said that he remembered the bond-severing spell as clearly as Tom did. “Fine. I think a Mind-Healer will be a good idea. But I don’t think one will help me much.”

“Will you please go in with a clear head and a willingness to listen?” Tom asked quietly. “It’s true that nothing can help if you’re absolutely determined to resist.”

Harry sighed, thinking about it. “Fine. When is the first appointment?”

“Tomorrow at nine.”

Harry froze for a second, and then turned to Tom, his thoughts so clear that they shot down their bond before he could have spoken the words. _That’s also the hour that Hermione and Ron are supposed to swear their oaths._

“I would prefer to keep you away from them,” Tom admitted, not ashamed that he’d been caught. Part of him was curious, eager, to see if Harry would do as Tom was asking and stay away from his former friends. “I can reschedule the appointment with the Mind-Healer if you’d prefer, of course.”

“Reschedule it.”

“Of course.” Tom inclined his head, sighing a little. “They don’t deserve your loyalty.”

“They would say the same thing about you. I’ll give my loyalty where and how I please.”

The stubborn uptilt of Harry’s head said that he was going to argue about it, so Tom simply placed a hand on his shoulder. “I hope that you at least won’t deny me the privilege of being beside you while you listen to their oaths.”

“No, you should be there,” Harry said, and his eyes sparked for a second. “Because you’ll see how much strength they still have when they take them. I think they’re very brave for agreeing to do this at all, you know.”

Tom held back his reaction, and only nodded. “Then shall we talk of more pleasant things while we wait for tomorrow morning?”

Harry smiled at him, and Tom let the complementary emotion erupt down the bond between them and carry them away for the afternoon.

*

Harry shivered a little as he stood in the Ministry Atrium. Originally, he had thought Ron and Hermione would take their oaths in the Wizengamot courtroom they’d almost destroyed, in front of the people they’d almost killed with the Ultimate Destruction Curse in their bond, but Tom had vetoed that. Apparently, he’d thought most of the wizarding world might like to see them do it.

Harry had argued against it, but Tom had only looked at him and said, “They would have left the entire wizarding world headless if they _had _succeeded in their mad strike against the government,” and Harry had been forced to back down.

And the crowd was bigger than Harry had expected. People stood crowded so close to the Floos and the golden fountain that Harry thought they would have the pattern of bricks or the basin imprinted on their backs later. The only clear patch of floor was a narrow corridor leading from the lifts that Ron and Hermione would come out of and towards the fountain. Tom had said they would take their oaths under the indifferent eyes of the wizard and witch symbolized among the fountain’s group of creatures.

Tom hadn’t said anything about why, but Harry did wonder if he had found out that Hermione despised the service of house-elves and the domination of magical creatures that many traditional pure-bloods stood for. Forcing her to do this here was a particularly subtle psychological strike.

But Harry hadn’t said anything, partially because he knew Tom had indulged Harry’s protests about his best friends’ fate as far as he was willing to go, and partially because he didn’t want to give Tom ideas.

Their bond flared, and Harry turned his head even before the lifts began to open. Tom was riding in them with an escort of Aurors and a few of the Wizengamot members who had been there when Ron and Hermione unleashed their magic for the last time.

Amelia Bones stepped out first, her face cold, and a few people trying to press past the Hit Wizards who were keeping that patch of floor clear froze when they met her eyes. Madam Bones nodded and kept walking, while Ron and Hermione shuffled behind her. Harry winced when he heard the shackles they wore clanking.

Maybe it was his wince, one of the only movements in that eerily still room, that drew their eyes to him. Hermione looked up, and her gaze locked with his. Ron’s followed a second later.

Harry knew that he was looking closely enough to see Hermione’s eyes fill with tears. Ron’s didn’t, but he put an arm around Hermione’s shoulders and turned a little as if to shield her from Harry.

Harry swallowed around his pain, and then caught Tom’s eye in turn. Tom was standing far too still, especially with Aurors hesitating behind him, and there was a curve of his arm that said his hand was about to rest on his wand.

_He might still punish them, if you act too pained around them. As if they haven’t been punished enough…_

Harry yanked his pain back into himself, and Tom’s face cleared. He still gave Harry a thoughtful look as he walked around the Aurors to stand near the fountain facing Ron and Hermione. The people who had been pressing close enough before to imprint the basin into their backs cleared as if Banished. Harry himself only turned so that he could keep everyone under observation.

Ron still had his arm around Hermione’s shoulders, and his face was nearly blank. Harry hoped that Tom wouldn’t interpret that in any bad way. Madam Bones was the one who cleared her throat and drew the attention of the crowd and reporters to her.

“We come here today to hear the oaths of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, former members of the Order of the Phoenix who attacked the Wizengamot during their trial for terrorist activities,” she said. “They are now Squibs with a broken soul-bond, so they will not be taking the most powerful oath they could possibly take, the ones that bind wizards. They will be taking oaths that the Minister, Weasley, Granger, and the Wizengamot have all agreed on the wording of.”

Hermione shifted as if she was going to protest that bit about the agreement, but Ron wrapped his arm tighter around her shoulders and quieted her. Harry swallowed. He knew that this was the best outcome, out of all the ones that had been likely, but—

Well, it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t have liked things to work out differently.

“Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, you will begin the oaths with your first part.”

Hermione stepped forwards, although she was shaking, and laid her hand on the golden chain that Madam Bones had taken out of her pocket. When she stretched it taut between her hands, it rang a little, and then quieted. Harry eyed the chain. He had been assured that it could bind anyone who had once felt the touch of magic within their bodies, which made it an effective tool to hold even Squibs, although not Muggles.

He didn’t know what it was made of, or why it was so effective, and Tom had only said that he would explain the magical theory later.

“Mr. Weasley, you as well.”

Ron followed a taut moment later, and his hand joined Hermione’s on the chain. They took a deep breath and began to recite together. Harry wondered if they’d had to practice that, or if it was a remnant of their bond-closeness that they could do it.

“We swear that we will go into the Muggle world for the rest of our lives. We swear that we will have no unmonitored contact with anyone magical, including children who have not yet entered Hogwarts. Monitors are only to consist of Minister Riddle or members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We swear that we will not try to enter the magical world through any point in Britain, including but not limited to entrances to Diagon Alley, St. Mungo’s, and the Ministry. We swear that we will not spread materials about the Order of the Phoenix or that criticize Minister Tom Riddle and the Wizengamot, including but not limited to pamphlets, speeches, private conversations, and letters. We swear that we will not communicate with Professor Albus Dumbledore, former Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and will immediately report any attempts on his part to contact us to Madam Amelia Bones. We swear that we will not try to contact members of the Weasley family, Harry Potter, Lily Potter, James Potter, Sirius Black, or anyone else who has been connected to the Order of the Phoenix without prior approval from the Minister.”

Harry jerked his head around and frowned at Tom. Forbidding Ron and Hermione from contacting Dumbledore only made sense, with how easily they were influenced, but he hadn’t known it would extend to _him._

Tom gave him a cool look, and Harry knew he wouldn’t get anywhere by arguing about it. With a scowl, he faced back towards Ron and Hermione.

“And we swear that any move we make against the wizarding world, the current wizarding world government, Minister Tom Riddle, or his soulmate Harry Potter will be non-violent in nature.”

Hermione closed her eyes as she made that last statement. Ron just stood closer to her, staring out of the corner of his eye at Ton and Harry.

Harry could feel himself reeling. He hadn’t known _that _oath would be in the package. He had expected something that would prevent them from acting against the magical government at all, similar to the one that said they couldn’t spread propaganda for the Order of the Phoenix. He leaned towards Tom as reporters shouted questions and Madam Bones fielded them, while Aurors moved in to stand close to Ron and Hermione.

“Why did you leave them an opening to act against you at all?” he asked quietly.

“They would probably explode without it, and do something that would violate one of the oaths,” Tom said. “Breaking an oath punishes them with pain, with death if they violate it more than three times. And that would upset you.”

“So you did it because you didn’t want to upset me.”

“Well. Yes.”

Harry stared at him. Tom looked back, gaze steady, mild, and a little inquisitive. He obviously didn’t see what problem Harry had with this.

“You’re supposed to do things like that because it’s the _right _thing to do, not to condemn your enemies to death,” Harry hissed finally. “Not because you want to make someone close to you happy.”

“We’ve established that we don’t play the political game by the same rules, darling.”

Harry would have said something else, but one of the reporters turned towards him at that point, and Harry forced a smile. He recognized Rita Skeeter, and he knew that she wouldn’t hesitate to flip the story around and present Ron and Hermione as innocent victims and Harry and Tom as the terrible people, if she could.

“Mr. Potter, I just wanted to know how you felt about your friends getting a second chance like this, while your second chance was _different_,” Skeeter said, her eyes turning to Tom for a second as if she thought she could pin him in place. Tom only smiled indulgently. He had told Harry that he enjoyed “playing” with Skeeter. “After all, you were all involved with the Order of the Phoenix, but you were spared and given an important position in the government, while your friends were stripped of their magic and exiled. What do you think happened to cause the difference?”

Harry consciously kept his eyebrow from twitching. Of course Skeeter _knew _what had happened. Everyone did who was marginally aware of the Minister’s search for his soulmate and it succeeding at last.

But he did suppose that answering like that wasn’t a good idea, so he sighed and said, “It was two things, I suppose.”

“Of course. Tell me what the two things were?” Skeeter’s quill hovered over her parchment.

“First, I was never directly involved with the Order of the Phoenix, not in the way that my friends were.” Harry kept his eye on the quill, and noticed when it began to scribble down a much longer sentence than the one he’d spoken. He smiled and flexed his own magic a little. The quill stopped. “I don’t think your audience wants all the speculation, do they, Madam Skeeter? They would rather have the truth?”

Skeeter stared at him. Harry stared back. Tom’s amusement simmered, banked, in the back of their bond, but he could have felt that amusement if Harry had been about to make a fool of himself, so Harry didn’t take a lot of comfort from it.

Skeeter finally sighed and pulled another quill from her front robe pocket. “Fine, Mr. Potter. You win. So you deny direct involvement even though most of your family and friends were part of the Order?”

Harry nodded, keeping a sharp eye on the quill. But it did lack a slight flare of enchantment that had been there around the other, so he supposed it really was doing only what it was supposed to. “I was a spy for them, in a way. I passed on useful information that I came upon in the course of my Ministry job. But because I worked in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, there wasn’t much of that.”

“Why did you work in that department?” Skeeter interjected.

“I was good at Quidditch in school, but not much else—”

“Something that will be rectified,” Tom said, in the kind of deep, soothing voice that could fool so many people into thinking he was talking about harmless things. “For example, Mr. Potter will be resitting some of his NEWT’s in various subjects.”

Harry ground his teeth, but he did say, “At the time, I believed it would be wrong for me to be with my soulmate. I think better of that now, of course, but _while _I believed it, I made every effort to conceal my power from Minister Riddle’s notice.”

“Does that include deliberately failing exams?” Skeeter seemed fascinated.

“I never got below an Acceptable,” Harry said. There was only so much damage that his parents had wanted him to do to his scores, and plenty of competent wizards and witches got Acceptables. “But yes, I did poorly in some situations where I could have done a great deal more.”

Skeeter looked as if she was dithering between questions for a second, but then she pursued another tactic. “You said there were two reasons that you were being treated differently than your friends. One of them was no direct involvement with the raids and other less-than-legal activities of the Order of the Phoenix.” She made a great show of writing down another sentence, although from what Harry could see by glancing at her parchment, it was only what she’d just said. “And the second factor?”

“I saved the lives of a great many people,” Harry said with a shrug. “First in the building that Headmaster Dumbledore tried to collapse on top of Minister Riddle and the reporters and Department Heads who were with him at the time, and then in the Wizengamot. It would have been hard for the Minister to put me in prison while also owing me a life-debt.”

Skeeter immediately perked up. “And how are you planning to repay that life-debt, Minister Riddle?”

Harry leaned towards her and lowered his voice before Tom could say a thing. He didn’t know what Tom would say, in fact, which made the question a little dangerous. “Life-debts don’t truly exist between soulmates, you know. The greater magic link prevents the lesser magical link of the debt from taking hold.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Tom’s scowl, and turned an angelic smile on him. That was something he’d known for a while, but, of course, he’d never believed he would end up in a situation where Tom owed him a life-debt of any kind, or where he wouldn’t want to hide that he was Tom’s soulmate.

“You plan to spoil and pamper Mr. Potter in other ways, I hope,” Skeeter said to Tom.

“Of course I do,” Tom said, with a flash of his charming smile. “Furnishing a flat for him was the least I could do.”

Harry feared that Skeeter might ask what else Tom was doing, but luckily, she got distracted asking about the color scheme and furnishings of the flat, and that left Harry free to move slowly towards Ron and Hermione.

They were standing close to each other, not touching, but leaning so near that it looked like they were. Amelia Bones was examining them every time she finished answering a reporter’s question and turned to glance over her shoulder, but she didn’t seem to think they would run away or attack anyone.

Harry halted in front of them and swallowed. “Hi,” he whispered.

Hermione gave him a deep, sad glance, but there was less blame in it than he had expected. Ron put a hand on her shoulder and turned to look at Harry.

“I wish it hadn’t turned out this way,” he said.

“So do I.” Harry hesitated. Part of the reason they hadn’t made the oaths right away was that the Wizengamot and Tom were debating on the wording of them, but another reason was that they had spent time with the Aurors, giving answers to some questions, since magical oaths that had bound them to keep Order secrets had no claim on them now. None of those answers had been conveyed to Harry, though. “I—why did you bury the Ultimate Destruction Curse in your bond?”

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other in what seemed to be silent communication even though Harry knew they had no bond any longer. Well, he supposed some of the habits would remain even though they couldn’t literally hear each other’s thoughts or feel their emotions now. Harry bit his lip to resist the impulse to apologize. He hadn’t destroyed their bond out of malice. It was that, or have them fall apart into ash.

He preferred them alive.

Hemione finally turned to face him, and said, “It was a year ago, after the raid on the Department of Mysteries. Professor Dumbledore pointed out that we could have been caught, and even though the oaths we’d taken protected some of our secrets, the Aurors would still have got something out of us. We had to have—a weapon, to get away from our enemies if necessary.”

“To _get away_? But your bond powered the curse!”

Hermione glanced at the floor. Ron wrapped his arm around her shoulders again and said to Harry, “Get away as in die.”

“Oh.” Harry massaged his own throat as he thought of what would have happened if Ron and Hermione had died in the Department of Mysteries, or some other time, when he wouldn’t have been able to save them or prevent it. It would have—hurt. A lot.

“Why did you believe Dumbledore so much?” he asked then. “I believed him a lot, but not enough that I would have cast a suicidal curse on myself.”

“It’s hard to explain,” Hermione whispered.

“I’m here, and you can say anything to me,” Harry promised, although he did glance over his shoulder at Tom. Tom was still talking to Skeeter, but also watching Harry in a way that said he knew very well what Harry was doing, and didn’t like it.

“He makes you feel so _special _when he’s talking to you,” Hermione murmured, her voice full of yearning. “He knows exactly what to say. He told us that we would need to escape if someone caught us, for the Order and because we wouldn’t want to spend the rest of our lives in prison. And that was true. I mean, it was true enough that we unleashed the spell when the Wizengamot voted for Azkaban.”

Harry nodded. _So you’re admitting he manipulated you, then. _But that wasn’t something he could say, either. “He made you special, and like you were contributing to a cause bigger than yourself.”

“Yeah, and it’s not like we would really have a chance to do that at our age if not for the Order,” Ron interjected. “We would have had to work our way up in the Ministry to make a difference, and Riddle is so prejudiced against Muggleborns and ‘blood traitors’ that we’d have a hard time—” He halted.

“Forget he’s my soulmate?” Harry raised his eyebrows a little, but relented when he saw how embarrassed Ron looked. “No, forget it. It’s a change, and it’s not like I really listened to Dumbledore any less. He told me that I had to keep my soul-mark hidden, and then he didn’t veto my plan to spy on Tom in the Ministry itself. I never questioned that, and I should have.”

“Can we write to you, Harry?” Hermione blurted out suddenly. “I—I need to say things to you, but I don’t know what they all are right now.”

“I’ll have to talk it over with Tom,” Harry said, truthfully enough, and not just because Tom had left Skeeter and was wending his way around the fountain to speak with them. It was also in their oaths. “But I wish you lot the best. I wish things didn’t have to turn out like this.”

The Aurors tensed when Hermione and Ron lifted their shackled arms, but they were only hugging him, and Harry leaned happily into their embraces, hugging them back as hard as he could. On the other hand, he didn’t resist when Tom reached out and took his elbow, their bond ringing cold as he drew Harry back.

“Take them into the Muggle world,” Tom told the Aurors.

“Yes,” Madam Bones echoed. “I don’t think much of a purpose is served by allowing them to linger.”

Harry still met his friends’ eyes as long as he could before they were ushered through the flames of the nearest fireplace. Then Tom stepped deliberately into his line of sight, his hand flat as he gently cupped Harry’s chin and forced his head back a little.

“Regrets?”

“I wish they could have kept their bond and their magic,” Harry said, and shrugged. “And I wish that Dumbledore hadn’t influenced them so much.”

“_But if you could undo the damage that had been done to them at the price of undoing our bond_?”

Harry blinked and looked at Tom. “What brought that on?” he asked. It was a strange thing for Tom to ask in public, even though he had spoken in Parseltongue so no one else could understand him. But that he had _had _to ask, that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to forego asking…

“_I am—unaccustomed to being the most important person in your life yet, Harry. And you seem to greatly regret that you did not exhaust yourself magically or kill yourself or burn out our bond trying to save them._”

Harry sighed and leaned against Tom for a minute, ignoring the click of cameras. Tom _would _have moved them somewhere more private before this if he had been worried about that. It was probably good public relations, anyway, for the Minister’s soulmate to look romantic with him. Or something. “I wish that things had been different because I wish they could have kept their magic and their bond and been on our side. But I know that can’t happen, and I don’t seriously lie awake at night regretting what happened.”

Tom held his eyes for long seconds, then nodded. And then he turned right around and began answering questions from Skeeter and the others as if nothing had happened.

Harry rolled his eyes. But that was his soulmate, and at least their emotional bond burned, steady as a fire, reassuring him if he ever needed it.

*

Albus closed his eyes. The charms on the old Dumbledore house, hidden behind a Fidelius of which he was the Secret Keeper, shivered for a second, as if they would crumble with the force of his grief.

Ron and Hermione had failed, according to the papers. Molly and Arthur Weasley had turned themselves over to the Aurors, and the rest of the Order who hadn’t been captured would soon follow. Or perhaps they would fade quietly into the background and pretend that they had never opposed a mad Dark Lord, when the price of opposing that mad Dark Lord was so hard.

The picture on the front page of the _Prophet _was of Harry gazing trustingly up into Riddle’s eyes, while Riddle curled his fingers around Harry’s soul-mark and the shifting flames sprang up.

It was all going wrong. Albus was losing every chance to save the world.

For now, of course, he would only have one choice. Perhaps he had known all along that it would come to this. He sighed and turned to face the row of books that stood behind him, the most ancient ones he owned. Some of these were several centuries old. Most concerned the nature of soul-marks, soul-bonds, and phoenixes.

There was one that he reached for which he flinched from as he touched. The pulse of power around it stung his fingers, but he ignored that and flipped it open.

One course left open to him. One course that everyone would loathe him for taking, if they knew of it. But there was only one person who would _know _the truth, and that person’s opinion could not be allowed to matter.

This way, Albus would gain the power to face down Riddle and Harry and the soul-bond that would be deepening their connection the longer he waited.

And then everyone would be safe. And free.


	28. Clarity

“Come in, Mr. Potter. Please have a seat.”

Harry nodded and sat down in the chair in front of the Mind-Healer’s desk. He’d thought the man’s office might look less—well, like an office. The Mind-Healer that Sirius had complained about seeing had large glass balls and soft cushions scattered all over the place, and colorful decorations on the walls, and tanks full of water that bubbled and glowed. Sirius had said it was at least easy to distract himself.

This just looked like a nicer office from Hogwarts, although different because it didn’t have the piles of parchment everywhere that were essays waiting to be marked. The desk was a curve of some kind of pale wood, birch or yew maybe. The only decoration was a painting of autumn leaves that shifted slowly back and forth.

Mind-Healer Gerald Laufrey was a tall, dark-skinned man with his long brown hair caught back in a tail. Harry hadn’t seen that many people in his life wear the style. It seemed to be considered “Muggle” by a lot of pure-bloods. He had dark green eyes that Harry avoided, looking down at his hands clasped on his knees.

“I know you were reluctant to meet with me,” Mind-Healer Laufrey said quietly. “Can I ask why?”

Harry took in a deep breath and looked up, this time studying the man for some trace of resentment. But there didn’t seem to be any. He just sat there and studied Harry back and seemed comfortable as the silence stretched.

“My godfather went to a Mind-Healer who essentially berated him into accepting her conclusions,” Harry said quietly. “I didn’t want to have the same experience, and I assumed I probably would.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been on the wrong side of the war—I mean, a war that Albus Dumbledore thought was going to happen. I assume that most of wizarding Britain would think of me as a terrorist. I wasn’t looking forward to hearing about it.”

Laufrey smiled for the first time. “That would make anyone reluctant to visit someone, I think. One thing you should know that is that I’m not here to berate you. And actually, what Minister Riddle told me when he set the appointment up is that he thought you had been abused by many people in your life, and would need help recovering from that abuse.”

“So he spun you this sad story about me not _wanting _to be a terrorist, and that was all it took to get your attention?” Harry shot a bolt of cold displeasure down his bond with Tom. Smugness came back, and then warmth that lapped around him like a hot bath. Harry shook his head and focused on Laufrey. “I’d hope you were more perceptive than that.”

Laufrey raised his eyebrows a little. “One thing you’ll soon find, Mr. Potter, is that I can’t be irritated as easily as some of the people you might have dealt with in the past. And Minister Riddle told me that he was going to ask you to come into this with your mind open, and your eyes, the same.”

Harry sighed and stared at his hands. “I just—I don’t want you to tell me a lot of shit about how my parents treated me.”

“At the moment, I have no idea what your parents did other than a very shadowy outline Minister Riddle sent me,” Laufrey said placidly. “And I have to make allowances for the fact that of course the Minister would hate anyone trying to keep his soulmate away from him, no matter what justifications they had. I have in fact already sent him an owl telling him that in that case, he should hate you, too.”

Harry jerked his head up. Laufrey held his gaze for a long moment before he winked. “I am loyal to my patients first, Mr. Potter,” he said gently. “And there are many techniques that I can use to show you a healthier path to a clearer mind without following Minister Riddle’s specifications exactly.”

“But you do want me to accept the soul-bond.”

“From where I sit, Mr. Potter, you’ve already done that,” Laufrey said. “What I want you to do is look back at your life that led up to the soul-bond and make peace with it. It’s highly unusual. A challenging case.”

“And that’s the perspective you’ll approach it from.”

Laufrey chuckled. “You _are _a prickly one. I’m surprised that your soul-mark wasn’t a hedgehog.”

Harry eyed him, but Laufrey didn’t appear to be laughing at him. He smiled at Harry and tilted his head a little to the side. “Will you permit me to explain to you a little more about what I can help you with?”

_Open mind, open mind, _Harry chanted to himself. Sirius’s awful experiences couldn’t be all there was to Mind-Healers. And he could feel Tom lying like a cat with one eye open in the back of his bond.

“Fine.”

It wasn’t the most gracious giving of permission, but Laufrey nodded and began to speak. “Conversation is a primary tool of the Mind-Healer, but I also work with memories, and with crystals that store the sense of soul-bonds. Some of my patients have permitted me to infuse those crystals with a sensation that is like having a successful soul-bond. Some of them did so at the end of my work with them. Others already had sound bonds and came to me for other reasons, but agreed to do this to benefit future patients I might have. If our sessions go well, it might be that I’ll ask this of you, as well.”

“All right,” Harry said slowly, his mind whirling. Could a crystal like that help Ron and Hermione? It wouldn’t be the same thing as having their bond back, but if they could hold one and be surrounded by the feeling, maybe it could lessen the numbness and withdrawal that Hermione had described to him.

“I think memories will be the first tool that we act with. Minister Riddle told me that he had experienced one of yours. When you were six or seven years old, I believe, and questioned your mother about whether your soul-mark made you an evil person.”

Harry grimaced, but nodded. It was a far more neutral description of the memory than he would have expected Tom to give, so there was that.

“And you also tried at least once to commit suicide.”

Harry tensed his shoulders. _That was _not _a bloody neutral description, Tom. _“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to—get away from all of it. I wouldn’t ever be able to have a soul-bond, and I hadn’t found any method to remove my mark or make it so that I would survive if my soulmate got killed. It was—” Harry shook his head. “I didn’t get very far.”

“But you tried, and that is significant.” Laufrey regarded Harry for a few moments, then said, “I am interested in looking at one of your memories of trying to remove the mark. Could I see it?”

“Why that one?” Harry blinked. He had been sure that Laufrey would want to investigate one of the memories Tom had told him about.

“It sounds as though it would be in between the two emotional extremes of the others,” Laufrey said quietly. “In some ways, I need to establish a—I am reluctant to use the word _normal_, but a sort of baseline for what your thoughts about your soul-bond are. This memory might be a good way to do it.”

“All right,” Harry said. He looked around for a Pensieve, but didn’t see one.

“I don’t actually use a Pensieve, but a method of my own.” Laufrey lifted his wand and, moving slowly as if he didn’t want to startle Harry, cast so that the air between them shimmered. Harry blinked as a golden shape appeared and warped into a door. “This method, once the memory is placed behind it, will actually allow us to enter it, and it will—I am reluctant to say have us _relive_ the memory, but it will duplicate the emotional content in a way that a Pensieve memory will not.”

“I don’t want to go through that again.” Harry shook his head when he heard how small his voice was, and sat up angrily. _Damn it, I will not look _weak. _The last thing we need is some of Tom’s enemies trying to take advantage of that. _“I—would prefer if we used a Pensieve.”

“The emotions are ones that I will feel, Mr. Potter,” said Laufrey. “You will be separated from them, viewing it more like a Pensieve memory, yourself. You may feel some faint echoes, and of course the memory itself may recall to you some of what you went through. But I will be the one with the full experience.”

Harry stared at him. “Why would you _ever _do something like that?”

“Because,” Laufrey said simply, “I want to help people.”

Harry drummed his fingers on his arm for a second. It wasn’t as though the impulse was foreign to him, but he had always thought of helping people as keeping secrets, or entering politics, or the kind of actions that the Order of the Phoenix took. Willingly taking on someone else’s emotional pain was—new.

But then again, he had always had enough of his own, and he had never wanted to be a Healer.

“All right,” he said. “How do you extract the memory?”

“In this case, the door does function like a Pensieve. And I would prefer that you do it yourself, so that you can choose exactly where it will begin and end, and obviate the chance of me seeing anything that you do not wish me to.”

Harry nodded slowly, and tried to ignore the feeling that he was unused to being given that much control over his destiny. Even if it was _true_, that didn’t mean he needed to start sniveling in front of the Mind-Healer.

He moved over and stood next to the golden door, or whatever it was, while focusing as hard as he could on one of the memories he had of trying to remove the mark. Only the removal itself, not the research process, although that bubbled up into the forefront of his mind as well. When he was sure he had the memory isolated, he stuck his wand to his temple and carefully pulled free the shining strands of silver.

Laufrey nodded encouragingly when Harry looked over at him. “Yes, simply stir your wand behind the door.”

_Here goes nothing, _Harry thought, half-convinced that the memory would simply splash on the floor, or whatever it would do without a Pensieve. He waved his wand behind the door—

And the silvery blob detached and floated quietly into place, hovering behind the door with the air of a politely waiting server.

As Harry watched, blinking, the area inside the memory began to spin and coalesce, so that he could no longer see the floor or the walls. When it settled, Harry was looking at what he would have described as a tent made out of pale canvas. It flapped and resisted the air as if a breeze was blowing.

“And we’re both going in there?” Harry murmured.

Laufrey nodded, sparing him a smile, when before Harry didn’t think he’d taken his eyes from the process of memory extraction. “Yes. We must go both together, and enter through the door, or it doesn’t work the way it should.”

“All right,” Harry breathed. His stomach was trembling like a drum, and he reached out and put his hand on the door’s knob, which was clear crystal, to stop himself from backing away.

Laufrey was a solid presence at his back, and Harry reminded himself, again, that he wouldn’t feel the emotions if this worked. He took a breath and stepped through.

*

Harry opened his eyes and nodded. So far, this was working like Laufrey had predicted. They were in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts, the ritual room that Harry had called up several times for his attempts to be rid of his soul-mark, but there was no crushing burden of grief and desperation the way Harry knew he had carried that evening.

He glanced once at Laufrey and saw the man breathing rapidly, a hand over his throat. Harry winced a little and turned back to the memory again.

His fourteen-year-old self was sitting in front of a ritual circle drawn in his own blood, which he had collected a little bit at a time over a month, because trying to do it all at once would have resulted in him collapsing of blood loss. There were symbols sketched on the stone floor inside it, also in his blood. Most were runes, but there were also symbols that resembled the wand movements used for Transfigurations and _Finite _spells. Harry would have been satisfied either to get rid of his mark altogether or to change it into a harmless blob.

Harry paced slowly over to the side so that he could see his younger self’s face; they’d landed facing his back. The teenage Harry was bent over the thick book in front of him, lips moving as he read.

Harry could still remember the most important phrase to him out of that book. _You have to mean it; you have to reject the concept of a soulmate completely to get rid of or change his mark._

Well, Harry had. At the time, he’d envisioned no possible reason that the ritual could fail, which only made it all the more devastating that it hadn’t succeeded.

Now, of course, he knew perfectly well why it had failed. He _hadn’t _been able to reject the concept of a soulmate, no matter how much he had wanted to. He had clung to the fantasy of someone who would complement him and love him.

_Except it wasn’t a fantasy, was it? _

Harry shook his head and backed away a little so that he could see the intent look on his younger self’s face, and the motions that his hands were making, as he shook out salt and powdered silver shavings over the blood circle.

“Where—where did you get the silver, Mr. Potter?”

Laufrey’s voice was strangled. Harry took another step back, this time to be near the Mind-Healer in case he needed help, but he got a shivering, head-twitching _look_ for his trouble, so he turned back to himself.

“Raided the Potions master’s storage cupboards,” he murmured. Now the younger Harry had closed his eyes and begun to move his lips in the soundless chant that was necessary to remove the soul-mark. Harry didn’t feel the overwhelming intensity of the desperation he would have in the moment, since Laufrey was getting all of it, but he did feel his chest ache for the poor boy who had no idea he would be loved one day.

“Do—did you know what this ritual did?”

“Of course I did,” Harry said simply, glancing over at Laufrey. He was waving his wand and casting several charms that would, if Harry recognized them correctly, calm down a pounding heart. “I had to research it extensively and sneak into the Restricted Section to get the book, after all.”

Even half-incapacitated as he was, the Mind-Healer still narrowed his eyes. “We should speak about your suicidal impulses as well, Mr. Potter.”

“That was only _once—_”

“This qualifies.”

Harry would have argued the point, but just then, the ritual circle lit up with the radiant silver lightning that Harry remembered from the ritual. He sighed. It looked beautiful from the outside, although of course he hadn’t noticed that at the time. He had simply been devastated that the ritual had failed.

Rising and falling shapes like the Northern Lights, but all in silver, traced the edges of the ritual circle. The younger Harry, opening his eyes, reached the climax of his chant and thrust his marked right wrist into the circle.

A second later, he was screaming, and this was _not _soundless. It echoed from every corner of the room, and Laufrey bowed his head and shivered.

The younger version of himself screamed, and screamed, and kept his hand in the fire. Harry’s eyes and heart ached as he watched, but he had to admit that, mostly, his eyes were dry. He had already seen and suffered through this, after all, no matter how new it was to Laufrey.

Finally, the past Harry took his hand out of the fire. He stared down at the blistered, burnt skin, and waited until his magic healed a few of the blisters so that he could see if the mark was gone.

It was still there.

The younger Harry bowed his head and wept.

Harry turned his face away. The memory dissolved around them in the meanwhile, and although he had thought they would have to go back through the door, he wasn’t entirely surprised to lift his head and realize they were back in Laufrey’s office without ever passing through it.

“Have a seat, please, Mr. Potter.”

Laufrey’s voice sounded scraped raw. Harry sat down across from him and looked at him carefully. Laufrey nodded as if Harry had asked a question. “That shows me very effectively some of the problems that you dealt with for having the Minister’s soul-mark. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“Even though those problems were self-inflicted?”

“Then you came up with all the ideas you had about your soul-mark on your own?”

Harry winced. _Shit, walked right into that one. _“No, sir. I mean—”

“I’d prefer it if you referred to me as Gerald, Mr. Potter. Having a barrier of formality between us is not going to help your healing.”

“Then why are you calling me by my last name?”

Laufrey paused for a second, then smiled. “Good point. All right, I’ll call you Harry if you call me Gerald.”

Harry nodded. This was working out better than he had thought it would so far, although he knew he would probably resent some of the things that Laufrey came up with. “All right. I didn’t come up with all the ideas on my own, but I was the one who decided to do that ritual. My parents never even _suggested_ that I try something like that to remove my soul-mark, or kill myself. That was my idea.”

“Mmmm.” Gerald scribbled something down on the parchment in front of him and looked hard at Harry. “And what _did _your parents say?”

“That I could never be with my soulmate. That he was someone who was evil and preparing to wage a secret war on Muggles and Muggleborns.” Harry felt his shoulders tensing and tried to shake it out. Fuck, even after all this time, mentioning Dumbledore’s ideas still made him feel like bolting in a random direction. “I had to resist him, or he would have ended up with doubled power.”

Gerald paused in the middle of scribbling something else down. “Doubled? Not quadrupled?”

“They didn’t think To—Minister Riddle was capable of love. So they thought I would fall in love with him, because he was so manipulative and charming, but not the other way around.”

“You can call him whatever you want in front of me, Harry. And I’ll do whatever you need to do to feel comfortable. Calling him by his last name was instinctive, but I can change that if you want.”

Harry paused and shot a question down his bond with Tom. The answer that came back was a simple outpouring of warmth, like a beam of sunlight through water. Harry opened his eyes and smiled. “He says that the first name is fine.”

Gerald nodded to him, expression serious, and wrote down a new note. “What did you think, when your parents told you that?”

“It wasn’t just my parents. It was my godfather and the Headmaster.”

“How well did you know the Headmaster before you started at Hogwarts?”

“Probably better than most Hogwarts students do.” Harry breathed for a second to try and get the bitterness out of his voice. “I met him for the first time when I was too young to remember. My parents contacted him when they read the soul-mark on my wrist.”

“Your parents became members of the Order of the Phoenix while they were still schoolchildren, then?”

Harry nodded. “A lot of people did. My godfather and several of the Weasleys, too. I think it was the time when Dumbledore could most easily influence them. But the Order had members who were Dumbledore’s age, so I suppose it was probably his reputation as the one who rejected his soul-bond with a Dark Lord that influenced _those _people.”

“No doubt he saw himself in you. No doubt he assumed that you would have the strength to reject a Dark Lord as well? Or someone that the Headmaster saw as a Dark Lord.”

Harry hesitated. “That’s the thing. It never seemed that he _did _think that way. He assumed that if I came to Tom’s notice at all, I would inevitably fall in love with him and betray the Order.”

Something like shame woke up in the center of his chest. Hadn’t Dumbledore been _right _in a way? He’d come into contact with Tom, he’d given up his anonymity and his loyalty to the Order for the comfort of a soulmate—

This time, the warmth that came down the bond was more like dragonfire. Harry turned his head to bask in it, eyes closed, and then started when he opened them and saw Gerald watching him with a small smile. “Sorry.”

“And you still feel partially as though you betrayed a loyalty expected of you, for all that no one should have had the _right _to expect it of you.” Gerald clasped his hands in front of him on his desk and studied Harry thoughtfully.

Harry averted his eyes and nodded. He knew intellectually that it was all nonsense, but part of him wondered if he had just proved everything that Dumbledore thought _right _instead of wrong.

“Do you remember what particular result you were hoping for from that ritual?” Gerald asked.

Harry blinked and looked at him, surprised that he’d asked. “That the mark would be gone.”

“Yes, but the primary emotion that I felt when we went through that memory wasn’t hope,” Gerald said. “It was self-loathing. Did you hate yourself _that _much for something you couldn’t help being born with?”

Harry closed his eyes. He hadn’t thought he was _evil_, not exactly. He’d known that he hadn’t had any choice about the soul-mark, and that was something his parents and Sirius and even Dumbledore had emphasized repeatedly.

But he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how much easier it would be if he _didn’t _have it. If it was just gone. And his thoughts had revolved continually around the tale of the attack on Tom’s soul-mark, how the people who had attacked him had managed to burn the phoenix away completely. What if—what if he could do that?

It had at least seemed like a solution.

“It would have made my life so much better if it had disappeared,” he whispered. “And that’s not something I can talk to Tom about, because he was so _faithful._ He kept waiting, and hoping, and thinking—”

“You don’t need to fear what Tom would say about it,” Gerald said softly. “That’s one of the reasons he sent you to me, you know. Because he knew that there would be things it would be difficult for you to speak to him about.”

Harry swallowed and nodded. He knew that. He accepted it. But the thought still seared his mind that _Tom _had never given up, that the man he had been trained to hate had still been waiting and searching for him.

That overlapped with the guilt that he felt for not doing as his parents had wanted, but didn’t replace it. The two emotions together twined around his heart, and Harry winced at the thought of what he must be projecting down the bond to Tom.

Gerald waited patiently until Harry opened his eyes and focused on him again. Then he asked, his voice so soft that Harry could barely hear him, “If you had the choice, would you give up the soul-mark now?”

“_No_.”

Gerald nodded, and a smile broke across his face. “Then that’s one decision made. You know that you can’t go back into the past and change something this important. That means that you’ve got to accept it and move forwards.”

“But that’s exactly what I don’t know _how _to do,” Harry snapped.

“I know. And we’re going to work on it.” Gerald turned the parchment around that he’d been writing on. “These are the notes that I’ve made about the memory you shared with me and the emotions I felt during it. We’ll talk about them together. Reason them out. Locate their origin. Determine how much danger you’re in of actually repeating them.”

Harry shot him a wary look. “Why?”

“That way, you won’t have to worry about experiencing them again in the future.”

Harry nodded slowly. Yes, he had a bond he would die to defend, but that he’d also been ready to hurt himself and die to reject at one point. He could see why Gerald thought it was important to talk about.

“And I hope,” Gerald went on, “that by the time we’re done talking about them, you can have a weapon against any such emotions that you might feel in the future.”

Harry finally gave in to something he’d been wanting to do for a few minutes, and smiled.

*

“What you are going to do is foolish, Albus.”

Albus ignored Gellert as he laid the patterns of colored sand out in front of him on the floor of the cave. The red one had to loop around the blue one, and the purple one had to be on the outside. And the black one, of course, had to form a huge circle around all the others.

“This is _madness._”

Gellert’s voice was rasping and distressed enough now that Albus turned to look at him. He sighed and shook his head. “Why would you say such a thing? The madness was the belief that you set out to promote, that Muggleborns were inferior to other wizards.”

“Even I,” Gellert said, and began to cough. Albus waited it out. He would have to wait on Gellert more and more often, now, but it was a price he was willing to pay to defeat another Dark Lord.

“Even I,” Gellert finally finished, “was never mad enough to interfere with soul magic and soul-marks. What do you think is going to _happen_? You were the one who made the decision to reject our bond in the first place!”

“And that means,” Albus said quietly, “that I can take it back.”

Gellert stared at him, then yanked up his arm. The mark on his right forearm, that twirled around and around in patterns Albus could still see behind his eyes every time he closed them, was thorns and flames, and all was black-edged. “There is no reviving a dead mark!”

“There is,” Albus said, and scattered another few grains of black sand into the outer circle, “in the magic that I have found.”

He knew what was coming even before Gellert launched the unfocused blast of wandless power at him. He had enough protections on the cave to compensate for the finished magical bond they didn’t have, after all. He deflected it with a sweep of his wand, and went back to carefully lying out the patterns.

“Albus. You don’t have to do this. There’s no sign that Riddle is a Dark Lord, or, if he is, then maybe having his soulmate will temper him.”

Albus sat back with a long, slow sigh. “But I can’t take the _chance_, Gellert,” he said quietly. “There were visions from the phoenixes that I never told you about. As long as Tom and his soulmate stayed apart, there was a chance that the world would be saved. That was the strongest possibility out of the visions I saw. But all the ones that showed them joining together showed the detailed prophecy coming true.”

“Detailed prophecy.”

“The one that predicts the rise of a Dark Lord.” Albus stood up and faced his recalcitrant soulmate across the circles of sand. “Do you know how many visions I saw of Tom and Harry saving the world, or creating a better one, after the forging of their bond?”

Blinking, Gellert shook his head.

“One,” Albus said. “One out of ninety-nine.”

Gellert looked down at his dead soul-mark again. “That doesn’t mean that you’re the one chosen to try and save the world, Albus. You could let someone else, like other people in the Order of the Phoenix, do it for you. Or you could do it via some other method.”

“The Order has been disbanded. And now that Tom and Harry are joined, Tom will have doubled powers very soon, if he does not already. Harry by himself was strong enough to save Tom from an assassination attempt coordinated by _multiple _soulmated pairs in the Order and among my allies.” Albus realized that his breath was rushing faster and faster. He tried to calm down. The more hysterical he sounded, the less cooperation he could expect from Gellert. “I’m not powerful enough to oppose them unless I have it, too.”

“You can’t have them.” Gellert laughed, a vicious edge to the sound. “I don’t love you. You don’t love me.”

“I have a solution to that problem.”

Gellert’s eyes seemed to widen to the point that he’d lost all the pupil in them as he stared at the flask of potion shimmering like mother-of-pearl next to Albus. It had been there all along, of course, because it had to be inside the circles of sand. Albus had simply removed the illusion covering it. “Albus,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “No.”

“I don’t need you to drink it.”

Gellert’s eyes jerked to him, but Albus had cast the first spell, the one that made the circles of sand lift and revive, swirling around him. It enclosed him in a shining, prismatic shell that grew brighter and brighter as his magic was added to it, and then the sheen of the potion. Albus spoke the second spell, and the sand traveled outwards to dance around Gellert.

“Albus! Albus, you’re mad!”

Albus ignored him and cast the third spell. The air filled with the roaring, whistling noise of a sandstorm on the move. Albus turned and faced into the heart of the storm, taking up the flask of the potion as he did so.

The next part was tricky. Albus gazed into the heart of the sand until he was ready to attempt it.

At one and the same moment, he cast the spell to create an Inferius on his own black-edged soul-mark and dosed himself with the Amortentia.

The power soared through him, at the same time as obsessed sparked in his veins and life erupted from the soul-mark on his arm and reached out to find the corresponding one on Gellert’s.

Albus locked eyes with Gellert, who was staring at him in shock for some reason.

Why? Albus _loved _him. He knew it like he knew the names of all the stars. And he crossed the boundary of the sand that joined them instead of separated them and clasped Gellert in his arms, and smiled, and kissed his hand, since Gellert was lifting an arm to shield his face.

Their soul-marks flickered, and turned grey, and Albus laughed in soft exhilaration as he shared his love with Gellert and Gellert shared his horror with him.

The world was, at last, on the path that it should be.


	29. Destinies

Tom turned his head. Outwardly, he had been listening with what patience he could muster to yet _another _diatribe from Arcturus Black on why Muggleborns didn’t belong in the Ministry. He knew that Harry had planned to approach Black about the life-debt he owed, but they had agreed that it was best to wait and let Madam Malfoy spread some of the facts Harry had assigned her first.

And Harry was at his Mind-Healing session right now in any case, with only some emotions filtering down their bond. At the moment, his mood was one of quiet attentiveness like soft ice. What Tom had felt came from something else.

“And if you think that pure-bloods will sit back and let Mudbloods trample over our sacred traditions—”

Tom held up his hand. Black blinked and fell silent. It wasn’t a usual practice of Tom’s, to command like that. He was skilled at listening to inane conversations with half his attention while reaching out with his true awareness in other directions.

But this time…

Tom listened, and listened, and finally made out the sound. It was like a soft bell ringing in another room, but becoming harder as the breeze from an open window stirred it. It was one of the alarms Tom had planted about the Ministry to alert him if someone with a large and active magical aura ever came within a certain distance of it, another method of finding his soulmate. Tom had never bothered to dismantle the alarms after he’d found Harry. He had idly thought they might make a good warning if Dumbledore tried another attack on him.

But now…

“Wait here,” Tom told Black, who was opening his mouth again to complain—that would be what it was, it was never anything else. “We may be about to suffer a raid.” And he left his office and shut the door behind him, making his way towards the bell in question.

It hung in one of the outer offices of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, under a spell that ensured no one came too near it. Tom didn’t want it triggered by random Aurors. But it should have been ringing more strongly than this if a spell had impacted the Ministry or was moving nearer. In fact, the tone hadn’t changed at all since Tom first heard it, which was more than strange. Was Dumbledore building up a spell just outside its range?

Tom stepped into the small meeting room and walked over to his bell, absently banishing the illusion of empty space that it occupied. The small silver instrument swung back and forth on the taut steel wire that Tom had conjured for it, the clapper lazy and gentle. Tom frowned at it, and then glanced around the room. Maybe something had gone wrong with his warding, and it had picked up on the magic of an Auror who had simply walked past on their way to somewhere else.

But when he used magic to enhance his senses, there was no recent smell of anyone near here, nor any sign that the carpet had been crushed by footsteps or the table disturbed by small pools of sweat. Tom ended the enchantment and stepped back to observe the bell again. He hadn’t built much of a sense of direction into them, given that they had been meant to indicate someone powerful in the Ministry itself, but he could read a little information from the wall the clapper pointed at when it reached the top of its arc.

It pointed towards the western wall, but already it was softening, its tone sweet instead of warning. Tom closed his eyes and realigned his senses to reach out towards the west. What was there? From what he could tell, nothing much. Quiet country, small villages where no one was performing magic, city streets…

Tom’s eyes snapped open. Yes, there _was _the remnant of some great gathering of magic there, as if someone had opened a gate to another world (an art Tom had never been interested in, since none of them would have had his soulmate). No wonder the bell had barely sensed it. It must be right on the edge of its magical reach.

But who would have had the power to open a gate or conduct some other comparable working? Tom shook his head. He kept a private list of the soulmated pairs in the country, and how strong their magic was. None of them even compared to him by himself, much less what he would have now that his bond with Harry was fully open.

Unless Dumbledore had managed to resurrect the bond with his soulmate, of course.

Tom stepped slowly back from the bell, his mind full of books he had read in his twenties, when he had still been searching for a way to bring his mark back. What he had found indicated that there was no way he could do so, but also that it hadn’t destroyed his potential to bond with a soulmate, which had been the question he most wanted to find the answer to.

And for someone to start a bond again that they had once rejected was also possible, but only with true love on both sides. Tom snorted. He could not imagine Dumbledore going to Grindelwald in Nurmengard, casting himself on his knees, and confessing that he had loved him for years.

So what might have happened? Had Grindelwald summoned Dumbledore and told him that _he _regretted the dissolution of their bond and wanted to bond again?

Then again, Tom didn’t know how love could have come into the heart of a rejected Dark Lord nursing his bitterness alone. For all that he was not a Dark Lord, Tom thought he understood Grindelwald better than most. He would have forgiven Harry much, but not establishing their bond and then turning away from it.

No, most likely there was something else he hadn’t yet considered, some way that Dumbledore had managed to receive a greater power or bring his bond back into existence.

Tom sighed in irritation and turned back to the door. He would have to go to his office and pretend interest in Black’s complaints again. There was nothing he could do without more knowledge and Harry at his side.

At least they had had this forewarning.

*

Molly swallowed as she stepped through the door of the Leaky Cauldron. She had thought it an odd place for the Aurors to ask her and Arthur to meet them and surrender their wands, but it was more the people bustling around her that made her skin prickle. She hadn’t been outside the Order’s refuge or camps in years, and she knew everyone there.

But strangely, no one glanced at them more than twice. It was a busy day, of course, bustling with parents escorting their children who were home over the Easter holiday, so perhaps that was part of it.

The bigger part, however, Molly saw when she edged around a witch with a tall hat and stopped. There was a contingent of Aurors waiting for them, yes, although only three, far fewer than Molly had thought they’d want when meeting with dangerous terrorists.

And in the middle of them was the Minister.

Molly gripped the sheaf of documents she was carrying harder than ever. Never in any dream or daydream had she thought Minister Riddle would be there to “greet” them. She exchanged a helpless glance with Arthur.

Arthur finally smiled back at her and lifted his shoulders. “Best to begin as we mean to go on, my dear,” he murmured. So far, Molly noticed, neither the Aurors nor the Minister had made any move towards them, although they were clearly watching. Arthur nodded to her and then turned around and strode towards that central table.

Molly followed slowly, and tried not to feel the old instinctive hatred when Minister Riddle’s eyes landed on her.

The Minister studied her only a moment before turning and rising to his feet to shake Arthur’s hand. “Thank you for surrendering and helping us avoid any unpleasantness,” he said, in a rich, cultured voice that made Molly blink. Then again, she hadn’t heard him speak in years. The Order avoided having possession of a wireless, in case they could be tracked by it. “I know my soulmate is fond of both of you.”

“We thought he was fond of our son and daughter-in-law, as well,” Molly said a little numbly.

“Well, I imagine that fondness diminished after they cursed him in the back and forced him into a duel,” Riddle said, his voice sharpening. It was still a pleasure to listen to, which was unnerving. He let go of Arthur’s hand and reached out for hers. Molly took it and tried not to let her eyes linger on the onyx-and-diamond phoenix pendant around Riddle’s neck. She’d thought he might stop wearing it after he’d found his soulmate, but perhaps he was attached to it. “You haven’t done anything like that that I’m aware of.”

Molly shook her head and reclaimed her hand. “No. To be honest, we were questioning the Order’s goals for some time.”

“But not enough to walk away from it and sue for pardon before this.”

“It’s hard to walk away from something you’ve built a life doing.” Molly wanted to talk some more, but Arthur’s arm slipped around her waist, and she felt their soulmate magic gently pulling at her, soothing her. She bit her lip and tried to stay silent.

“Yes, it is,” Riddle said, his voice now with a sympathetic resonance that didn’t sound feigned. Molly eyed him, and Riddle nodded to her. “But if we’re going to speak further of this, perhaps we should go elsewhere.”

Molly glanced back and saw most of the people in the Leaky Cauldron staring at them. She nodded. “Why did you want to meet here, sir?” It was hard to force the last word out of her throat, where it seemed to stick, but she managed. If she had been referring to Dumbledore that way for years, perhaps it was time to use it to talk about someone else.

“So there could no doubt that your arrest had proceeded peacefully,” Riddle said. “And that you had surrendered. Your wands, please.” He held out his hand.

Molly swallowed and drew it. She held it by the middle of the shaft and displayed it on her palm to Riddle. Riddle claimed it with a flare of magic around his hands that she supposed was meant to neutralize any traps on it.

He did the same to Arthur’s wand, studied them for a moment, and then nodded and handed them to the Aurors. Then, absurdly, he stepped up to Molly and offered her his arm like a Muggle courtier.

Molly stared at him, but took the arm when she saw his eyes harden. “Why are you doing this?” she asked under her breath as they went towards the door.

“You’re important to my soulmate,” Riddle said, with a shrug. “I told you that already. You may choose to disbelieve me, but if I hear that you’ve been ugly to Harry because of it, then we can reconsider the amount of unpleasantness I am willing to indulge.”

For a moment, his sharp fingernails pricked the skin of her wrist. Molly nodded, a little dazed. “I have no wish to scold him. I only want to know what’s going on. This isn’t anything like I expected.”

“No one expected anything like it,” Riddle said. His face was stern and cold, but his eyes shone for a moment. “Including Dumbledore.”

Molly shivered as they reached the Apparition point and Riddle Apparated with her. She could only risk one glance backwards to make sure that Arthur was still following in the Aurors’ custody.

Riddle might be inclined to treat them more graciously because of Harry, but she was wondering if his version of graciousness would overlap with hers.

*

“How did it go with Mind-Healer Laufrey?”

“It was different than I expected it to be,” Harry said, leaning back on the couch and watching Tom make dinner, which was so domestic he found it suspicious. Then again, Tom wanting to be in charge of everything Harry did, including what he ate, did make a certain amount of sense. “Less scolding.”

“You do have a consistent perception that people would wish to scold you for what you suffered,” Tom murmured, glancing over his shoulder before he concentrated on the salmon in front of him again.

Harry sighed and looked out the window of Tom’s flat. The distant lights of London were flickering on, and he wondered idly if someone could look back at them and see them. Probably not, knowing all of the protections that Tom would have layered over the windows. “People mostly did.”

“Who?”

“Well—I mean, I don’t think my parents meant to. But they were always drilling me on what I had to do if you approached me, or how I should respond if I had the chance to meet you and tell the truth. It _felt _like scolding sometimes that I’d been born with your soul-mark, especially when I was younger. And the Mind-Healer Sirius had scolded him. And you’ve done the same thing.”

“I have not.” Tom turned, while their bond thrummed with a slippery cold emotion that Harry identified after a second. Tom felt aghast.

“Telling me that I should have approached you earlier? Accepted your assignment of a Mind-Healer without protesting? That I shouldn’t have remained friends with Ron and Hermione after they cursed me?” Harry was ticking them off on his fingers, and ignoring the way the bond grew hotter and hotter. “Maybe you were right, but you talked about them in this condescending ‘I _told _you so’ way that’s very off-putting.”

Tom blinked several times, while the bond cooled off. Then he did something to the salmon that appeared to involve a Stasis Charm, and came over to sit down next to Harry. “If I did that, I’m sorry for it. I do think that there were some conclusions you could reasonably be expected to have come to, even if Dumbledore was lying to you—”

“There you go again.”

Tom sat back with a grimace and a shake of his head. “I really did think that I was just telling you the truth.”

“I know. I _know _you are,” Harry repeated, when Tom looked at him and the bond thrummed like a string someone had plucked. “I know that you’re telling me honestly what you think. But I hate—I hate being a disappointment to everyone the way I know I am.”

“You are not a disappointment.”

“Admit it, Tom. You wish I would have broken away from Dumbledore and the Order and come looking for you earlier. You wish that I wouldn’t have wasted so many years believing what they did and that you were evil and so was I. You wish I was more confident and politically savvy.” Harry hesitated, and the bond writhed.

“Say the last thing.”

“You wish I was a pure-blood.”

Tom grabbed his hands and held them still. Harry blinked as the bond heated up again, and Tom leaned in until his lips were a centimeter, perhaps, from Harry’s. According to the tone of the bond, though, he had never felt less like kissing Harry.

“The last is absolutely _not _true,” Tom whispered fiercely. “To wish that you were as bigoted as the rest of them and inclined to sigh about Muggleborns and only put up with having a half-blood soulmate because I’m _powerful_? No, Harry. The blood status of my potential soulmate never mattered to me, but I thought a lot about the bigotry I might have to overcome if you were a pure-blood. That you are what you are couldn’t please me more.”

The bond pulsed like a sun between his shoulders and made Harry able to sigh and believe him. “All right. But the other things I said?”

Tom renewed the Stasis Charm on the salmon and curled up on the couch with his arm wrapped firmly around Harry. Harry leaned with his head on Tom’s shoulder and wished Gerald hadn’t recommended talking with his soulmate. So far, it just hurt a lot.

“I wish things had been different,” Tom admitted. “That we could have had more years together and that you hadn’t spent so much time wishing that you hadn’t been born with my mark. But I blame the Order and Dumbledore and your parents and your godfather for that. You were _raised _that way. Your parents and godfather weren’t, but they accepted the bollocks that Dumbledore was spewing anyway.”

“Dumbledore was really convincing and charismatic, though. And they thought that you were a Dark Lord and he’d rejected his Dark Lord soulmate, so he knew what he was talking about.”

“_This, _though? This spirited defense of people who treated you badly and who need to acknowledge that, even if they did it for the best of reasons? That’s all you.” Tom lifted his head so that their eyes were meeting, even as the bond leaped and rang. “And it’s bloody annoying.”

“Sorry.”

Tom shrugged. “No level of annoyance would rise to me breaking the bond, Harry. I want you. I love you. I’ll always fight to keep you. And I’ll work on the condescending tone.” He tapped Harry’s leg. “While you work on seeing the truth about your childhood.”

“All right.” Harry leaned more heavily against Tom, then glanced over as he smelled something burning. “Do you need to renew the Stasis Charm on the salmon again?”

“Shit!”

Harry laughed. The pleasure of knowing no one would believe him if he said the Minister for Magic had almost burned their dinner was outweighed by the pleasure of knowing that no one else need ever know it.

*

“Albus. Albus, let me go.”

Albus sighed. That was the kind of meaningless utterance that Gellert had been repeating since Albus had renewed their bond. Albus knew that the horror coming down the bond was real, but on the other hand, what would Gellert _have _of him? This was the only way, the best way.

And Albus loved Gellert. Enough to ignore the ramblings from him that meant nothing and focus on getting them to a position where they would be honored and they could receive the cures they needed. When they were heralded as the saviors of the world.

Currently, Albus stood beneath two large trees with intertwined branches that some people considered to mark an entrance to the Forbidden Forest, his gaze fastened on Hogwarts. He needed to get back into the school to fetch some materials—potions, books, ingredients—that he hadn’t had time to retrieve when he went on the run. And he needed to make sure that he wouldn’t hurt too many people doing it.

“Albus!”

Albus turned around in vague interest. That had sounded meaningful. Perhaps Gellert had spied someone trying to sneak up on them.

Gellert hovered overhead in a contraption rather like a Muggle rocking chair, made of strips of wood braided together, wrapped with the spells necessary to protect him from the cold and keep him in place. He stared into Albus’s eyes, and the bond leaped and twanged between them. Albus frowned.

“Yes, Gellert?” A wave of tenderness came over Albus as he spoke, and he admired the curl of Gellert’s hair where it hung down by his cheek, and the curve of the cheek itself.

“Please let me go,” Gellert whispered, his head drooping. “This is madness. You must know that.”

“Many things might seem mad from the outside when you’re doing them to save the world.” Albus reached up and stroked Gellert’s hair, and ignored the way Gellert flinched from him. He would have to get used to that. If people thought he was mad, with his love thundering through his veins, well, that was the way it was. Albus had to be concerned with the safety of the world, not his reputation. “And I know that even unrequited love results in doubled powers. This is the only way that we can challenge Potter and Riddle.”

“What if we don’t need to challenge them?”

“What do you mean?” Albus thought he knew where Gellert was going with this, which would result in more meaningless chatter, but he could indulge the man he loved if he wanted to.

“What if Riddle isn’t a Dark Lord?” Gellert whispered, bending close, although there was no one to hear them in many directions if Albus’s Detection Charms were working right. “What if Potter manages to tame him?”

Albus sighed and took his hand away from Gellert’s hair. This was indeed the same kind of nonsense that Gellert had brought up again and again. “Let’s say that I grant the truth of this for one moment. What happens then?”

“We don’t have to go up against them, and you release me from this bond,” Gellert said immediately.

“No,” Albus said softly. “I mean that there’s still good to be done in defeating Riddle even if he’s not a Dark Lord. He’s still a disgusting politician who chose to play the game of pure-blood supremacy. And he’ll draw Harry into that game and secure his hold on power. We need to defeat him even if he has some name other than Dark Lord.”

Gellert closed his eyes. Tears were leaking down his face. Albus kissed them away, and then turned and faced the school again. This time, he could sense someone coming towards them, but he held his wand back. There was every chance that this person was an innocent, even throbbing with the strong aura of magic.

Then red and golden fire sparked through the forest, and Albus frowned. In a way, the person coming to confront them was indeed an innocent, but not anyone he would have wanted to see or stood a chance of persuading to his side.

The flames settled in front of him, and rolled aside like a curtain to reveal Fawkes’s settled form. Albus watched him dispassionately. There had been a time that he trusted the phoenix’s counsel absolutely, but it had become clear that they were working for two different versions of reality.

“I do wish,” he told his ancient companion, “that I knew why you wanted Riddle and Potter to win the war so much.”

Fawkes ducked his head and trilled. The song wove into Albus’s mind, and, for a moment, formed an image. Albus tilted his head. It seemed to him that he was standing above some kind of amphitheater, and he wondered if Fawkes was showing him a symbol, an image of a gladiatorial contest between the different realities they represented, perhaps.

The image came more and more clear. The amphitheater was built of white stone, and Albus found that he knew it. It had once been a public space for the wizarding world to hold gatherings, competitions, and duels, but had been bought by the Black family sixty years ago and turned into a private training arena.

It was full of people in the image. They were clapping and cheering. Albus didn’t see many people he recognized, but here and there was red hair that might have been a Weasley, and, close to the front, the Potter parents.

Tom Riddle and Harry Potter stood in the middle of the amphitheater on the raised stage, and showed off a large scroll tied with a golden ribbon between them. Albus squinted. The image promptly moved closer like a Muggle camera, and he could see what was written on the outside of the scroll.

_Muggleborn Reparations Laws._

Albus snorted under his breath, and the picture vanished. Fawkes stared up at him like a chick in the nest, giving very soft chirps that conveyed nothing to Albus.

“Do you think that vision is new to me?” Albus demanded. “The particular contents are, but not the vision itself. It is only that that is _one _version of reality out of a hundred. And even if they won and passed such laws, what would keep them from passing other, less acceptable ones? Ones that would legalize Dark Arts and take control of Hogwarts entirely from the Headmaster?”

Fawkes gave a low croon and turned his head. Albus followed his line of sight. He was looking at Gellert, who was hovering still next to Albus, and utterly silent. His eyes were fixed on Fawkes, however.

Albus shrugged. “I must do some less than acceptable things in the name of the greater good. But I am making the sacrifice myself, not expecting anyone else to make it with me. And I love him. Tom Riddle loves no one and nothing.”

Fawkes gave him one last sad look, and then turned and flew back towards the castle. Albus relaxed minutely. He had thought that perhaps Fawkes would try to interfere, but he seemed to think that simply projecting his version of the future was enough.

Albus was glad that _he _followed an agent of Fate who was more proactive.

He returned to studying the castle, and finally decided that he would find no better route into it than the secret passage that ran from the Honeydukes cellar. Luckily, it wasn’t a Hogsmeade weekend and there would be no students in attendance.

Albus turned to tell Gellert his decision, and blinked. Gellert’s left hand was darting away from his side, as if he had a wand there to palm. But Albus had hidden his wand long before he took Gellert out of Nurmengard, so he knew it couldn’t be there.

“What do you have in your hand, Gellert?”

Albus knew that his voice was gentle and loving, but he got a near-terrified look from Gellert before he opened his hand and said, “Nothing.”

Albus leaned towards him and cast an honesty hex on him. But Gellert only repeated the word when Albus asked the same question.

That left only one explanation. Albus shook his head and smiled gently at his soulmate. “You know that you don’t have to lie or act as though you’re mysterious to get my attention. You already have it. You always will.”

That made Gellert look ill, and the bond flickered with orange-red splotches. But Albus had to ignore that. There were many things that he had had to ignore since he had come to love his soulmate.

He had made hasty decisions when he was young, such as abandoning the emotional bond with Gellert because of a difference of opinion. He should have sought a reconciliation then, and perhaps Tom Riddle and Harry never would have risen. He and Gellert could have changed the world enough to make a Dark Lord impossible.

Albus sighed wistfully and walked towards Honeydukes under Disillusionment, Gellert also Disillusioned and floating behind him.

*

There was a _fire _in front of him.

Peter woke up squeaking and flailing, then blushed despite the fact that there was no one around him. But he’d had nightmares about fires from the time he was very young. Maybe it was just a consequence of accidentally lighting his pillow on fire when he was little and wanted to be warmer.

He sat up and then stared. There _was _a fireball in the center of his carpet. Peter snatched up his wand to conjure water, but then realized the fireball was sitting very tamely in place and not going anywhere else.

Real fires weren’t so polite, of course. Peter rubbed his fists into his eyes and wondered if he was still dreaming.

But then the flames congealed in on themselves, and Peter could see that it was Fawkes. He leaned forwards, concerned. Minerva was the Headmistress now, and perhaps Fawkes had come with a message from her. “Fawkes? Is Minerva all right?”

Fawkes opened his beak and sang. Peter shivered, closing his eyes. He had only heard phoenix song one other time, and it was one of the most peaceful memories in his life.

But now, a different image appeared in his mind, one not at all peaceful. This was of a dark tunnel that seemed to slope upwards. Peter was reminded of the tunnel into the Shrieking Shack, but after a few moments of the pictures growing clearer, he realized it wasn’t. Instead, it was the tunnel that led into Honeydukes, behind the state of the witch on the third floor of Hogwarts.

“Something is wrong with the tunnel?” Peter stood up and threw on a day robe over his sleeping one. “Is a student in trouble?”

Fawkes’s voice soared, and the picture in Peter’s mind expanded outwards from the edges in red lines, like the opposite of a burning piece of parchment. He could see, now, that the tunnel was empty—except for two figures in the middle. One of them seemed to be floating in the air, tied with ropes, and the other was coming down the middle in long strides.

Peter squinted. They were Disillusioned, but then Fawkes’s voice grew more shrill and insistent, and he could see the face of at least the leading figure.

_Dumbledore. _

Peter shivered violently. “I have to get Minerva,” he muttered, and reached for the doorknob of his quarters.

Fawkes leaped up and abruptly landed on his shoulder, making Peter freeze. He’d never thought a phoenix would be so close to him. Fawkes bent down until his red beak was right in front of Peter’s face and warbled, again and again and again.

There were words now in Peter’s mind instead of images, but not comforting ones.

_It is your fight._

Peter swallowed so hard that it hurt his throat and tried to shrug Fawkes off his shoulder. Fawkes stayed, even clinging. Peter turned to stare, and he knew he probably looked panicked, but that was only honesty, because he _was._

“Do you know what I _am_? A frightened man whose Animagus form is a _rat_! I didn’t speak up when I should have and had clues that Harry Potter was the Minister’s soulmate! I didn’t report on the efforts of the Order of the Phoenix when it was active! What makes you think I can face Dumbledore in a fair fight?”

Fawkes spread his wings and gave a stern reply that was less words than the flash of light off the blades of his feathers. _What makes you think it has to be fair?_

Peter closed his eyes. That was—true. He had his rat form. He had his experience with the Marauders playing prankers, although to be honest, mostly they had been the kind that took four people to set up. Or three, after Remus declined to forgive Sirius.

Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe he had to do what he could do anyway, because Dumbledore couldn’t have come back here for any good reason.

He finally got Fawkes to leave by melting down into his rat form and running silently under the door of his quarters and towards the third floor. It would take him longer to get there this way, but he needed the sense of safety that his Animagus form provided right now.

Then there was a rush of wings above him, and abruptly Fawkes swooped down, grabbed Peter in his talons, and began flying as urgently as he’d delivered the message in the direction of the witch statue.

Peter squeaked in annoyance, but Fawkes didn’t respond. Peter tried to tuck his paws under his belly and ignore the pressure of the talons against his sides. So far, they weren’t breaking through the flesh, and he didn’t think phoenixes were predators, anyway.

He thought.

Peter sighed, and closed his eyes, trying not to wonder about the fight that waited for him.


	30. Tricks

Peter was breathing hard by the time Fawkes finally set him down in the middle of the corridor near the statue of the humpbacked witch, but he tried to concentrate through his terror. He had sometimes felt like this right before the Marauders played some big prank, he remembered dimly.

What had he done then?

He had gathered up all his courage and gone through with his part in them, that’s what he had done. And sometimes he had come up with clever twists that not even Sirius and James could have anticipated.

New thoughts bubbled to the surface of his mind, pranks he had idly contemplated in the years since he had stopped playing them, tricks he had seen students play, and things that had gone wrong in his Transfiguration classroom. Peter settled himself with a shake of his tail and then glanced up at Fawkes.

Fawkes landed on the statue of the witch and spread his wings, crooning softly and encouragingly at Peter.

Peter darted through the space between the witch and the opening of the tunnel, which was more than big enough for a rodent, and scampered down the corridor. Ideas were whirling together in his head, but some of them would require a wand, so he stopped and transformed, listening hard with both kinds of hearing.

He didn’t hear anyone yet. Dumbledore must be pretty far down the tunnel.

Peter drew his wand and started casting.

*

Albus pressed forwards with a faint smile on his face. He didn’t actually _enjoy _the terror and fear that he could feel coming down his bond with Gellert, but he knew that it was for the best. The bond existed, and that was something most magical theorists would have said was impossible, after Albus had been foolish enough to reject their first one.

He would do what had to be done—discover new techniques of magic, exploit his own heart, exploit his own soulmate—if it meant that the visions of peace and a quiet future would come to pass, not the ones where Riddle and Potter ruled.

The tunnel bent in front of him and then straightened out. Albus paused to glance back at Gellert, who was still attached to the floating chair.

“Are you all right, Gellert?”

Gellert never answered the questions that Albus chose to show his love and care, although given the way he probably thought of their renewed bond, Albus supposed he couldn’t blame him. He was staring up the tunnel instead, his brow wrinkled. “Did you hear something?”

“I cast a charm that would have detected anyone in the tunnel with us before we started down it,” Albus reassured him.

“But there’s still something—”

A second later, Albus heard it, too. It was an odd, skittering noise. He had to liken it to a swarm of insects building up and rushing towards them, but he couldn’t imagine what that many insects would be doing in a deserted tunnel. Hogwarts had active spells that usually took care of vermin. He turned with a frown.

A wall of rats came rushing around the corner towards them.

Albus couldn’t help his jerk and shout of disgust. It was immature, but when the rats started pressing around him, and he could _feel _their sleek bodies, their long and squirming tails, he leaped back. Then he started casting the kind of barrier charms that would hold them back.

One bit him on the ankle.

Albus dropped his wand in shock. The bite _hurt _so much that it felt poisoned. He clapped his hand over the wound and bent down to see what it looked like.

“Albus!”

Gellert’s shout tugged on the bond between them and spun Albus around. The bond was resonating with panic. Some of the rats had leaped from the ground and were climbing up the floating wicker chair to chew on his robes.

Albus reached up to free Gellert. He would do that rather than allow him to be eaten alive.

Then, abruptly, the rats vanished. Albus glanced around, and found no trace of them, nor of the objects that he would have suspected they were Transfigured from. Nor had the bite on his ankle disappeared the way it should have if the rats were mere illusion, and Gellert’s robes bore true marks of chewing.

“Are you hurt?” Albus scanned the corridor closely. No, there was no trace at all, and that was more than unnerving.

“No.”

Gellert was still breathing fast. Albus nodded and went to find his wand.

It was gone.

Albus immediately clasped his hands in front of him and closed his eyes. The first wandless spell he had perfected was one to Summon his wand, which was a prime target in duels. Unless it was actually broken, he should be able to pull it back to him.

Other than a distant rattle that might have been his wand bouncing off some unseen barrier, nothing happened. Albus shivered and opened his eyes.

Illusory rats shouldn’t have been able to take his wand away. Transfigured ones shouldn’t have been able to disappear so completely. Real ones wouldn’t have had the brains, or be able to prevent his wand from coming to him now. Like any Summoning Charm, his wandless one could only be foiled by the object being locked in a box or container of some kind. If a real rat under someone’s command had stolen it, his wand would have lifted over them and flown back to him.

“Let’s get out of here, Albus.”

Albus shook his head, not taking his eyes away from the corridor in front of him. There had to be someone there, but he should have been able to make out the shimmer of a Disillusionment Charm, and any Invisibility Cloak except the one the Potters possessed would be permeable to his eyes. “Are you there?” he called out.

“Of course they’re bloody there!” Gellert hissed from behind him.

Albus ignored him. “Listen to me,” he said, as kindly and firmly as he could. “You may not understand the importance of the wand you stole, or of helping me preserve our world, but I assure you that there is a great—”

“Get out of here!” Gellert called. “He’s mad!”

Albus turned to stare at him, his love twanging inside him in betrayed shock. Gellert raised his eyebrows.

“What do you want me to say? You are.”

“Shut up, Gellert.”

“No. Don’t do it!” Gellert kept yelling down the tunnel. “You have the bloody Elder—”

Albus clenched his magic in a long surge, and Gellert gagged and then went under the wandless Silencing Charm. Albus shut his eyes. “I hate hurting you, but there are things that are more important than our bond,” he said, and once again faced the motionless, silent tunnel stretching out in front of him.

It somewhat unnerved him that he could see and hear nothing. There was faint light from the torches in the walls that lit whenever an adult walked through here, as opposed to a student. Why wouldn’t he see a shadow cast by those torches? Hear a voice, a shuffling step?

“I will give you one more chance to come forth and give me my wand back like a civilized wizard,” he called.

Silence.

Albus closed his eyes to center himself. The next feat of magic he was about to perform would have been beyond his wandless abilities most of his life, but since he had bonded with Gellert, there was little limit to what he could do.

When he was sure that he had the power built up, he whispered, “_Dolor_,” and let the spell go.

*

Peter crouched on the floor of the tunnel, shuddering in relieved disbelief. He hadn’t been at all sure that would work, but it had.

He had copied a Transfiguration failure that had happened in one of his third-year classes the previous spring. The student had been meant to be Transfiguring a carved wooden rat into a real one, and Peter always measured the success of that exercise by checking for things like the correct beat of the rat’s heart and the length of its whiskers, things he knew intimately. (He didn’t let the students Transfigure the rats back to wood, either, instead keeping them and letting them go in the Forbidden Forest).

Yet, somehow, the student had Transfigured the wooden rat into _two _of them, one real and one not-real—an illusion that nonetheless felt solid until Peter actually poked it with his wand. The two rats had run around the classroom and acted like complete mirrors of each other. Peter had been fascinated, but he’d unfortunately had to correct the mistake when other students started shrieking in fear.

So he had imitated it on the dust in the corridor, with a small twist of his wand that greatly multiplied the number of illusory rats per Transfigured one, and then made sure that all the “real” rats were in the vanguard of the army, with himself in his own form among them. He’d been the one to snatch Dumbledore’s wand and get it to safety, and when all of the Transfigured rats were back around the corner, vanished the illusions. The Transfigured ones were hiding in corners now, silent, waiting.

Albus was surely planning a counterstrike now that his appeals had failed. What was it—?

“_Dolor._”

The spell filled the corridor with invisible waves of pain, and Peter transformed sharply as the agony nearly made him cry out. He wasn’t about to reveal his position to Dumbledore, especially since the hastily Transfigured box that he’d hidden the wand in might not hold forever against the thing’s rattling and thumping.

As a rat, the pain was dimmer and sort of turned sideways. It was the kind of spell meant to affect humans, not other animals. Peter crouched in place, shivering, until the last part of it was gone, and then cocked his ears.

“Are you ready to come out and speak like a normal person?”

Peter shuddered all over. Dumbledore’s voice was calm and patient and utterly mad. How could he have sent a spell like that and then expected someone to stand up, walk around the corner, and admit that it was “normal?”

For that matter, how had he managed to send that kind of pain curse with wandless magic anyway? Peter knew that particular curse, and it was only a few shades less intense than the Cruciatus. James and Sirius had tried to learn it wandlessly for when they were cornered by Slytherins, but neither of them had managed.

Then Peter reminded himself of the second figure floating in the corridor. He swallowed. It might have been—

_Dumbledore’s soulmate. He might have found a way to resurrect and force the bond._

The mere thought made Peter scratch himself in desperate nervousness. Then he crept to the corner of the corridor and peered around, keeping it to the absolute least portion of his eye necessary, so that he could see without being seen.

Dumbledore was standing with his hands on his hips, shaking his head back and forth. “If you would only give me back my wand, then perhaps we could discuss this like civilized people and there would be no need for these curses!” he called.

Peter focused his eyes and nose, as best as he could when he was so close to the ground, on the figure floating in the wicker chair behind Dumbledore. The man’s face was covered with grizzled beard, and his scent wasn’t familiar. But—

There had been stories, hadn’t there, around the time Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald? That the man had been his soulmate?

Peter shivered. There had been stories, yet, but Dumbledore tended to smile sadly when people asked him about his soulmate and show the black-edged mark. Peter, who bore a black-edged one himself, could understand not wanting to talk about something so painful. He thought that people inducted into the Order of the Phoenix had learned the truth, but that had never been Peter.

Of course, there was supposed to be no way of getting the bond back once it had been rejected, or Sirius would have managed to repair the bond he’d had with Remus when it snapped after the Tree Prank. Who knew what Dumbledore had done?

“I am growing impatient.”

Peter retreated back around the corner. His mind, which had been as twitchy as fleas, suddenly was cool and deep, like a pool of still water.

The knowledge that Dumbledore had repaired his bond with Grindelwald _had _to leave the tunnel. Presumably Fawkes had known, but either he couldn’t talk to people the way he had to Peter about his “destiny” or he wouldn’t. Peter had to survive because people had to know about this—travesty.

Of course, Peter also couldn’t just retreat and hope that someone else would take care of Dumbledore’s entrance to the school. He had to do what he could to distract Dumbledore. Seizing his wand was an unexpected stroke of luck—

There _was _something he could do.

Peter turned back to human and cast a certain spell, then became a rat again and slunk around the corner, moving carefully. Dumbledore had his back turned talking to the floating man, luckily, and didn’t see him as Peter crept carefully through the shadows and forwards. If the floating man saw him, he was going to keep it to himself.

When Peter got close enough, he could hear Dumbledore saying, “It pains me to hurt you, Gellert. You will only know how much if you concentrate on the bond. But I hope you’ll understand me declining to free you.”

_Gellert. It is Grindelwald._

Dumbledore turned to face the main mouth of the tunnel again, and cast another wandless Summoning Charm that made his wand rattle against the conjured box. Peter crouched and leaped as high as he could.

If the conjured rats he had made had done it, he could do it, too.

Peter sprang from the ground, shaking, and landed on Grindelwald’s bound leg. He bowed his head and began to gnaw on the ropes that some of his Transfigured rats had also worked on. Grindelwald stared at him, but didn’t say a word.

“I am beginning to grow impatient,” Dumbledore said, in the kind of patience-dripping voice that had terrified Peter when he was a student. “I will come around the corner in a moment, and it will not go well for you.”

Peter swished his tail, but refused to be hurried. Unlike regular rats, he knew exactly where to gnaw, and the rope parted around Grindelwald’s ankle with a quiet hiss. Dumbledore started to turn back around.

At that moment, the charm Peter had cast before he became a rat erupted with a boom.

Mad, cackling laughter filled the tunnel. Dumbledore stiffened in shock and pivoted back to face it. Peter crawled up to Grindelwald’s shoulder and began to chew as fast as he could on the rope that bound the Dark Lord’s right hand. He would have grimaced and spat if a rat could. The musky, woody taste of the rope was disgusting.

“Albus!” called the conjured voice that Peter had set up, one of the pranks that the Marauders had perfected in their third year. “I see what you are doing there!” More mad laughter followed.

“Who are you?” Dumbledore moved forwards a few steps, his hand twitching down at his side where he sought his wand and then forming into a fist. Peter paused to exhale and went back to gnawing. “What do you want from me?”

“Albus!” The voice descended to a low, growling sound. One part of the prank that Sirius had come up with was that the voice always sounded like all four of their voices together, not one, which would make it difficult for Dumbledore to be sure that someone was here who couldn’t be. “What evil have you done?”

That was a standard phrase that they had used to make the Slytherins run, but Dumbledore seemed to take it more seriously. He lifted a hand and yanked out with another wandless Summoning Charm.

Nothing happened, of course. Peter had anchored the charm in the walls and floor of the tunnel. Dumbledore’s wandless magic was still good enough to make a few pebbles fall, but not to summon half the building.

Peter could only hope, as he chewed one more time and the rope around Grindelwald’s right hand parted, that Grindelwald was just as adept with wandless magic due to their _bloody soul-bond._

The moment his hand was free, Grindelwald was moving. Peter sprang free and ran towards the nearest dark corner, ignoring the impact made as the ground slammed his body. So it hurt a little. So what? It still hurt a lot less falling that distance as a rat than it would as a human.

He crouched and whipped around, digging into the floor with all four feet, ready to scuttle or leap at a moment’s notice.

Grindelwald had broken the other ropes and was already directing his own blast of wandless energy at Dumbledore’s back. Of course he felt it coming, as he would have felt his soulmate’s surge of emotions down the bond, and was turning to counter it. But the point was, he had eyes for nothing else _but _the way Grindelwald was free, and Peter could go running around the corner and back towards the box the wand was in.

He had to get it out of here.

Peter nerved himself, and when white lightning crackled between the two men and Grindelwald said something in what might be German, he scuttled along the wall back towards the corner. The air behind him was filled with flame and light, and magic that made his spine tingle. Peter didn’t know what he would see if he looked back, and he honestly couldn’t think of a reason why he should. He kept running.

*

Albus could feel the bond twisting between him and Gellert with exultation and despair and his own surprise, all of them sharp as rapiers. What he didn’t understand was how Gellert had got free. The person who’d been lurking about in the tunnel had helped him, obviously, but _why_? Why would they choose to help someone with a reputation for being a Dark Lord over the Headmaster of their own school?

He felt weak and shaken. His wand had been taken from him. Gellert had broken the Silencing Charm with easy magic. His love was turning on him.

Of course, that didn’t mean he would simply give in and go meekly along with Gellert. Not at all. He clenched his hands, and white sheets of flame danced up and down on his arms, joining the glare of yellower light from Gellert.

“You will not destroy what I have worked so hard for,” Albus said, and winced a little when he heard his voice come out as a snarl. Someone watching them from a distance might have had a hard time telling a difference between them.

And that thought was distracting. He put it smoothly away, as he had done with many distracting thoughts over the years.

“As far as _I _can see, Albus, what you have worked so hard for consists of your mad Order of the Phoenix, which is now broken and fleeing from the war you have lost.” Gellert snapped a sheet of yellow light into being in front of him and began moving to the left. Albus turned to counter, his own white flame curling around his feet. “And there has been little enough benefit for me from our resurrected bond or your relentless campaign. But I will take the magic.”

“I cannot allow you to go off on your own,” Albus said steadily. “You might try to take over the world again.”

Gellert rolled his eyes, as if that made sense, as if Albus’s words deserved such a contemptuous gesture. “You’re confusing me with yourself.”

“I never wanted the world! I simply wanted to make sure that Tom Riddle didn’t have it.”

“And in the meantime, you didn’t care if you plunged it into chaos, or killed people, or betrayed the ones who used to follow you—”

Albus snapped out the white lightning he’d been gathering when he was sure that Gellert was pretty far into his little speech. He hissed as the lightning turned back from the yellow shield that Gellert had conjured. Even worse, the magic was weak and hesitating, partially because of the wandless power he had expended already.

And partially because he was attacking his soulmate, and with all his soul and his power, he did not want to.

However, if he was right about the length of time that had passed since they had completed the bond, he had only to wait.

Gellert darted abruptly to the right. Albus again turned to counter him, and the yellow light Gellert had summoned danced back from his shields as surely as Albus’s lightning had rebounded from Gellert’s. They were equal in power, although Albus knew he loved Gellert more.

But they were not equals in body.

Sure enough, a few seconds later, Gellert bent over, the tearing cough he had acquired in Nurmengard and that Albus had dosed him with potions for bubbling up in his lungs. Albus ran forwards, ready to take advantage of the distraction, but also to rescue his love from the poor decisions he had made in the past.

Gellert met him with a rope of light that snaked around Albus’s ankles and tripped him.

Albus’s mind was full of blank surprise as he went over. This was _ridiculous_. It was a prank spell, rather like the ones that the Marauders had sometimes used on other students. He could not be defeated by something like _this._

He couldn’t be defeated by a wall of rats that must have been mostly illusion, either. But somehow, it had overcome him and deprived him of his wand.

He rolled over and started to come back to his feet. Then he went very still, because there was a hand on his throat, and it clenched tight as he coughed. And there was something hot and burning in it.

Albus imagined Gellert burning his face off, and even though the bond trembled at the thought of it, he continued to be still.

“You rejected our bond all those years ago,” Gellert breathed. “And you thought I would be _happy _to resume it? Where have you been burying your head, Albus? You thought I would just happily agree to this?”

_So he wants to talk. _Albus relaxed a little. Someone who wanted to talk was less likely to burn his face off. And although Gellert didn’t understand or want the bond the way Albus did, he might still be able to persuade him around.

So long as he kept talking.

“I did what I had to do,” Albus said, his eyes fixed on the far wall of the tunnel. He listened intently, but heard nothing other than Gellert’s heavy, hoarse breathing from behind him. No sign of whoever had stolen his wand. “I know that you didn’t see Riddle and Potter as the threats they are, but they _are_, Gellert. And as powerful as they are, the only way I could fight them was by resurrecting our bond.”

“They matter to you more than I do.”

“Of course not, Gellert!” Albus’s love sizzled in his veins, love even for Gellert in this violent state that wasn’t really him, love even for the fingers that closed around his throat in warning when he started to turn his head. He sighed and held still again. “You matter more to me than anyone else. My soulmate, my bond partner. I would give up the fight against Riddle and Potter in an instant if I thought we could go on living in the world without winning it.”

Gellert was silent. Albus wondered if that was something he hadn’t considered. The bond pooled between them, at least, cool and contemplative.

“You don’t mention me in those visions you have.”

“I don’t see myself much, either,” Albus admitted. He shifted under Gellert. Neither of them was young, but he stood a better chance of overpowering Gellert than the other way around, he was sure. _He _had fully embraced the bond, which meant he had more access to the magic, and more capability to wield it. Gellert would never have managed to ambush Albus at all if he wasn’t surprised. “It’s mostly Riddle and Potter. But I know that we didn’t save the world because I see them destroying it, Gellert.”

“How?”

“They’re taking it over. Riddle becomes Minister for years and years—the rest of his life, or a little less than that. And they’re _immortal, _Gellert. Even if Riddle gave up the Ministry, think of how much they could influence society if they were still alive.”

“Is it a pernicious influence?”

Albus nearly gaped, but then managed to control himself. “Of course it is, Gellert! Riddle hates Muggleborns and Muggles. You can’t think that a world he made would be kind to them.”

“I remember, once, that you didn’t care about that.” Gellert’s voice was growing stronger, but Albus didn’t know why. He shifted balance a little, and Albus began to gather strength in his back and knees, adding magic to the old muscles. “I remember that you talked about dominating Muggles in the name of the greater good.”

“I learned better.”

“And what makes you think _I _have?”

The words shocked Albus so much that the strength he had gathered went fleeing after all, and he barely managed not to flinch. But he shook his head and said as calmly as he could, “You’re toying with me, Gellert. You know as well as I do that you gave up that vision when I defeated you.”

“Numengard killed it, not my defeat.”

“Well, then,” Albus said, a little reassured, although he still didn’t like the tone in his bondmate’s voice. He loved it, of course, but he didn’t like it. “We are going to bring the world into alignment with the phoenix’s vision. We’re going to do the right thing.”

“That’s not a vision _I _serve, Albus.”

And the pressure was abruptly gone from Albus’s back. Albus rolled over and sprang to his feet, using magic to oil his joints and call fire into his hands.

Gellert was standing there with hands cupped around fire of his own, but for some reason, it was a spark far too small to be an offensive weapon. Albus eyed him in perplexity. “What are you doing, Gellert?”

“I don’t think I can change your mind,” Gellert said, meeting his gaze, his blue eyes so old and weary that the dim trembling of the bond couldn’t compare to them. “And I can’t change the way things will probably fall out. But I can do _one _thing.”

And he blinked, as if he was an illusion like the rats, and then turned into fire himself and drained into the spark.

Albus stared. The spark hovered in the air for a moment, and then darted towards the walls. Albus tried to seize it, either with his hands or with the magic of the bond, but it slipped through both as easily as water.

That left him standing there and staring helplessly after the spark.

He knew the bond hadn’t been severed, because he could still feel it, although stretched and strained. Soulmate magic was always easier to access when the bondmate was right at one’s side, which was why Albus had gone to such grievous measures to keep Gellert with him.

But _how _had Gellert done that? Albus tried to imagine leaping into a spark of fire to go after him, and it should have been possible if Gellert had called on the magic of their bond. But he remained stolidly human, his feet planted on the stone floor of the tunnel. He couldn’t imagine his way into the flames.

The only time he had seen something like that had been…

When his goals were still aligned with Fawkes’s, and the phoenix had transported him by fire.

Albus’s mind flashed back to the moment that Fawkes had left them in the Forbidden Forest, and the glittering thing that he had thought, for a second, Gellert was clasping to his side. Fawkes had given him that spark.

A sense of betrayal as profound as the sea flowed over Albus, and he found himself sinking to his knees in the corridor. He put his trembling hands over his face. _How _could Fawkes have done that to him? Why was he so determined to see the world destroyed under the hands of Potter and Riddle?

Albus had not believed that phoenixes could be evil. But now he had to question it.

A soft crooning noise made him look up. Fawkes was sitting on a small projection of rock from the side of the corridor that Albus couldn’t have sworn was there a moment ago, staring at him with steadfast sadness.

“_You _did this,” Albus whispered.

Fawkes tilted his head and gave voice to a long, rising and sweeping trill. Albus felt none of the joy he once had when the phoenix sang. He stood on shaking legs and said between clenched teeth, “The phoenix who comes to _me _never intervened directly. I know that agents on that level must have someone else to act for them.”

Fawkes ended his song, and continued to perch there. Then he sang again. But this time, Albus didn’t think he was wrong that the sweet music was mocking.

“You _did _intervene directly!” Albus shouted. “That spark couldn’t have been anything but phoenix fire! How dare you?”

Fawkes fluttered his wings and faded away in wisps of red and gold. Albus took a step towards the projection of rock and then stopped himself, hard though it was to do when his desire for revenge rode him almost as hard as his love for Gellert.

He had to find his wand. That was the best thing to do, and it didn’t matter who had stolen it. He would need it when he went after Gellert. They were far nearer equals in the contents of wandless power than he had speculated.

With no impending battle or worries except the ones that waited in the future to wrack him now, Albus thought it ought to be a simple matter to Summon the Elder Wand back with his wandless power. He clasped his hands in front of him and focused on the tug that would affect any object hit with an ordinary Summoning Charm, and the way that it would speed towards him.

“_Accio _the Elder Wand,” he said, softly but firmly.

There was nothing, not even the sound of the distant bang against a solid object that he’d heard before. Albus stared down the tunnel until his eyes watered, and then at last walked around the corner where the rats had come from.

There was nothing and no one there. Albus looked around helplessly. The Wand would have come back to him even if Fawkes had hidden it somewhere, he thought. It would have battered down barriers in the way to reunite with the wizard who planned to use it in conquest.

Unless…

Unless Albus’s suspicions about phoenixes being unable to intervene directly, and needing allies to move their visions of the future forwards, remained true. And that would mean Fawkes had intervened only to give the spark of fire to Gellert, which could be used only if Gellert somehow got his hands free.

There had been someone else here who had sent the rats and stolen his wand and somehow managed to free Gellert’s hands, although on that one Albus was unsure of the method.

“Hello?” he called.

The silence that answered sounded as mocking as Fawkes’s song.

*

Minerva pulled her head out of the Pensieve memory and stared at Peter for long moments. Peter tried to act as modest as he could, even though once he was out of the tunnel, exhilaration had burned away his fear.

“This is something to make the Minister aware of at once,” Minerva finally said.

Peter nodded. “I’m happy to supply my memories or speak to him, whichever you think would be better.”

“I’ll send him a copy of this memory, with your permission,” Minerva said, and Peter just nodded again. “He’ll probably be along to speak to you tomorrow.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why Albus could have gone so mad.”

Peter preserved a prudent silence. Telling Minerva that he’d seen it coming long before when the man began to recruit school-children for his imaginary war probably wouldn’t sit well with her when she’d been one of Dumbledore’s adherents for so many years.

“And then there’s his wand.” Minerva poked the box that Peter had put it in. “Does it feel oddly inert to you? Not that wands are truly _alive, _but they usually have more of an aura about them than this.”

Peter blinked. He could feel what seemed like a strong aura himself. But the Headmistress had more experience in matters like that. Peter wouldn’t have said he had expertise in anything except Transfiguration and pranks, himself. “Maybe so, Headmistress. Are you going to send it to the Minister as well?”

“I wouldn’t trust owl post with something like this,” Minerva said shortly. “Best to keep it under guard until Riddle gets here.”

Peter nodded and stood. “Then with your permission, Headmistress, I’ll try to get a few more hours of sleep.”

“Please do that, Professor Pettigrew. Peter.” When Peter glanced at her face again, Minerva was watching him with a softly glowing smile. “Please know that I’ve seen no more Gryffindor act in all my tenure as Head of House. No matter _how _it was accomplished.”

Peter left the office feeling as if he was a core of light around his burning joy. Except that, oddly, something seemed to be tugging on him as he left, too, trying to call him back.

But he forgot about that when he saw Fawkes perched on the gargoyle at the bottom of the Headmistress’s staircase. Peter scowled at him. “I am going to _sleep_, and I don’t care what you want me to—”

Fawkes spread his wings, soared as lightly as a butterfly across the distance between them, and perched on Peter’s shoulder. Then he rubbed his head against Peter’s cheek, and sang a little trill of song. It fell on Peter like a blessing.

Peter went to bed and had the best night’s sleep he could remember in decades.


	31. Wands

“And you’re sure that this is the wand Dumbledore was carrying?”

Minerva eyed the Minister with more skepticism than she had expected to have when she Flooed him and asked him to come to the school. Minister Riddle had seen Peter’s memory and also had probably had the chance, over the years, to examine Albus’s wand for himself. Yet he was letting his hand barely hover over the wooden box on the desk, and his eyes were narrow enough to glint in the light from the fire like a predator’s.

“I’m sure, Minister.” Minerva heard her voice come out snappish, and sighed. Instinctively, she glanced at Harry, who stood leaning against the far wall of her office. “Perhaps you could tell him, Mr. Potter?”

“I never really got to examine Dumbledore’s wand closely.” Harry smiled at her to take any possible sting out of the words and walked over to the desk, leaning an elbow on it to peer into the box himself. Even in her irritation, Minerva noticed the way that Riddle shifted over to make room for his soulmate. “But I remember that it had a certain aura.”

“An _aura_.”

“Yes. It felt more alert than most wands do.” Harry glanced at her over his shoulder. “Of course, most wands have that for the person who holds them. But I could sense the one from Dumbledore’s wand even when I was at a distance.”

“All right. So what?”

“You will not treat my soulmate disrespectfully, Headmistress,” Riddle murmured, without looking away from the wand.

Minerva caught her breath and in the end said nothing, because she supposed she should have known better than to react like that. She was too used to thinking of Harry as a student instead of an adult and someone who was in a much more responsible position now than he’d ever worked in at the Ministry.

Harry, though, rolled his eyes at Riddle and turned to look at her. “Please, Headmistress, excuse my soulmate. He’s still suffering from years of being left alone and needing to do whatever he could to survive.”

From the way Harry jumped a moment later, Riddle had sent a pretty sharp response down the bond. But all Harry did was stare at him stubbornly, and Riddle turned away with a snort and a mutter.

Minerva carefully held back any reaction and said, as neutrally as she could, “Has the aura on this wand changed?”

“It feels dead now,” Harry murmured, holding out his hand and letting his fingers hover above the wand in its box. His look was curious enough that Minerva studied him covertly. Harry just tilted his head and contemplated the wand, though, and didn’t look as though he was getting any special insight from the thing. “I almost wonder if Dumbledore could have substituted an ordinary wand for the one he had…” He glanced at Riddle.

Riddle shook his head briskly. “Even if he had known that someone was watching him and wanted to stage a loss of his real wand for their benefit, he was too desperate to get this one back. It has to be the real thing.”

Harry nodded, and then they stared at each other in silence, doubtless exchanging thoughts down the bond. Minerva carefully concealed her envy as she had her emotions earlier. She had lost that bond when Elphinstone died, and sometimes it still nagged at her like a broken bone.

“Given that,” Riddle said slowly, as if he was continuing the silent conversation aloud, “I think we should probably leave this wand here instead of taking it into custody.”

Harry nodded, a smile quirking up his mouth for a second, and then turned to Minerva. “Do you mind holding it if Professor Pettigrew agrees, Headmistress?”

“Of course not. Why would I?”

“Dumbledore might come back for it.” The Minister was watching her closely enough that Minerva had to resist the impulse to straighten her shoulders and snap her chin up. She wasn’t one of his guards _or _his followers. “He certainly knows it was lost in Hogwarts even if he doesn’t know who has it right now. And you can see from the memory how good he is at wandless magic.”

“Let him come.” Minerva didn’t recognize the grinding tone of her own voice, and apparently neither did Riddle or Harry, from the way they were staring at her. Minerva put up her back, and didn’t care how much doing it reminded either of them of her Animagus form. “I’ve had quite enough of him.”

“That won’t be enough to defeat him, though, Professor McGonagall.”

Harry looked worried. For _her_. The mere thought of a former student worrying over her ability to defend herself made Minerva want to hiss and claw. She managed to calm down enough to offer Harry a thin smile. “I know that. But I spent the night introducing some new defenses to Hogwarts after Peter showed me his memories.”

“Did you forget _I _needed to approve all new defenses?”

Minerva turned and looked at the Minister. He was all coiled, cold power, and although he was smiling, she knew all about the shadows behind that smile. Not being part of Albus’s Order anymore hadn’t left her ignorant.

Even if she privately thought that the smile had got less cold since Riddle had found his soulmate.

“That’s why I documented all of them on this parchment,” Minerva said, taking it out and laying it down in front of her with a bit of a flourish. “As well as the passage in the Hogwarts Charter where it says new defenses may be installed on an emergency basis and approved later.”

Riddle only nodded, as if he’d never given her a reason to feel threatened, and leaned over the parchment to review them. Minerva sighed out and caught Harry’s eye. Harry shrugged a little, as if asking how much she wanted him to change Riddle.

In truth, Minerva had never thought that anyone _could _change him this much. Harry was doing a remarkable job so far.

“Why this ward against Summoning Charms?” Riddle asked.

Minerva turned back to him. “Albus was attempting to use wandless magic to Summon his wand back. The ordinary charms on the school only prevent younger students from Summoning the furniture and anything larger with a burst of accidental power. I want to make sure that we’ll pick up on _wandless _magic, and purposeful magic, too, in the future.”

Riddle regarded her for a moment with his eyes as flat and calm as a snake’s. “Resourceful, Headmistress,” he said, and then went back to tracing his finger down the list of improvements she’d made.

Minerva sat behind the desk and tried her best to keep from feeling as if she’d be called before the entirety of the Wizengamot in a short time. She caught Harry’s sympathetic grimace, and he nodded to her, leaning over to murmur, “You’ve impressed him.”

Riddle hissed something in Parseltongue, and Harry started. Then he rolled his eyes and moved away from Minerva. Minerva could only assume that Riddle had declared his soulmate off-limits from being too close to anyone.

Again, it was less than she’d thought he’d do should he ever discover that soulmate, given how desperately he had searched after the criminals had burned off the mark on his chest. She entertained a wistful vision of what might have happened if Harry’s parents and Albus had let them meet years ago.

Then she shook herself. She would do more good focusing on the future, which might include an attack by Albus, than the past.

*

“_What do you know of him_?”

Harry shot Tom an annoyed look. When they could both speak silently down their bond, it was only showing off to speak in Parseltongue in front of someone else, not necessary for secrecy. Professor Pettigrew was already shaking slightly, even though he was behind his desk in his own office, where Tom and Harry had come to meet him.

“_Answer the question, Harry._”

_You don’t have to hiss and frighten him like that, _Harry said down the bond, and continued before Tom could say whatever he was going to say, _I know him as a professor at Hogwarts, and he was patient and helped most people learn Transfiguration well enough that a lot of them got higher than an Acceptable on the OWLS. And I know that he used to be my parents’ friend, but he refused to join the Order. That caused a rift between them._

“_Smart enough to avoid Albus from the beginning, then_,” Tom hissed. “_I like him more than I thought._” And he turned to Peter, who was holding very still now to keep himself, as Harry knew, from shaking. “Tell me, Professor Pettigrew, what alerted you to Dumbledore trying to break into the school?”

A curious look crossed Pettigrew’s face, but then he relaxed. “I’m sorry, sir, I forgot that I didn’t include that in the memory. Fawkes did. He came and showed me an image of the attack coming up the secret tunnel from behind the statue of the humpbacked witch, and then he carried me there.”

“Carried you?”

“I transformed into a rat.”

Harry shot annoyance down the bond at Tom. Even if Pettigrew had meant that Fawkes had carried him in human form, that was still perfectly possible for a phoenix. It didn’t mean Pettigrew was lying, and Harry disliked that Tom seemed to be trying to set him up.

Tom’s pleasant expression never varied, even as he said down the bond, _All part of making sure that Albus didn’t use him, darling. _“It didn’t occur to you that a phoenix who used to belong to Albus Dumbledore might be on _his _side, instead of yours, and manipulating you into letting his former master into the school?”

Pettigrew straightened up for the first time and gave Tom an odd look. “No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“He didn’t follow Dumbledore out of the school,” Pettigrew said. “So he didn’t want to be his companion anymore. After the revelations that have come out about Dumbledore and the Order, I can’t really say that I’m surprised.”

“You speak of companions and not pets.”

“Phoenixes aren’t pets, sir.”

“And you don’t think I would know more about them than you?” Tom leaned forwards, and his voice abruptly became the kind of savage snarl that Harry had heard him use to eviscerate people in the Wizengamot. “Given that I am the one who once had the mark of a phoenix on his chest and would have made a _study _of them?”

Pettigrew clenched his hands in his lap, at least from the motion of his shoulders, but his face remained blank and hard to read. “Forgive me, sir, but no, I don’t think so. Or else you’re trying to confuse me for some reason. Phoenixes really aren’t pets. They’ll endorse someone’s actions for a while, but Fawkes brought me there, showed me Dumbledore was a danger, and blessed me in the end after I came out of the Headmistress’s office. It was perfectly true that I’d done what he wanted.”

“Blessed you?” Harry asked. “How?”

Pettigrew gave him a slightly more comfortable smile than any look he’d given Tom. Then again, he’d been the man’s student, so Harry supposed it made sense that Pettigrew was more comfortable with him. “When I left the Headmistress’s office, Fawkes was waiting on the gargoyle. I started to tell him I wasn’t defending the school again that night, but he flew over, rubbed his head against me, and sang softly. Then I slept better than any night I can remember.”

Tom raised his eyebrows and caught Harry’s eye. “_That is indeed something I did not anticipate._”

“Seriously, stop speaking in Parseltongue just to intimidate someone who’s plenty intimidated by you already,” Harry snapped.

Pettigrew blinked, and stopped shaking. Tom tilted slowly back in his chair, fingers laced across his knees, attention entirely focused on Harry to the point that the bond was vibrating. _Soulmates should present a united front in public, _he said down the bond.

_Maybe people whose soulmates aren’t aresholes to random bystanders can do that all the time._

Tom frowned at him, but Pettigrew had nodded to Harry, and Harry asked him a question while hopefully he was in a more relaxed mood and would be happy that Harry had taken his part. “What did you feel from Dumbledore’s wand after you had it?”

“That it had an active aura,” Pettigrew replied. “It was almost humming.”

“It felt inert when we examined it in the Headmistress’s office.”

“She said the same thing.” Pettigrew visibly thought about it. “With one person’s perspective against three other people’s, then I have to concede I was wrong. Just because it felt that way to me doesn’t mean it was.”

“Why would it feel differently to you?” Tom’s voice was cool, but at least he was speaking English this time.

“Because I was perhaps still overwhelmed by the battle last night? I couldn’t believe I’d survived.” Pettigrew shook his head a little. “I’m good at Transfiguration, sir, not much else. I could have easily mistaken the wand’s aura. For one thing, I don’t know much about wandlore.”

“You defeated one of the most powerful wizards in Britain, and you call yourself weak?”

“Untalented, sir.” Pettigrew’s face was calm and set. “I know that there was a lot of luck in surviving the way I did, especially that I was able to get Grindelwald free and that he distracted Dumbledore after that. If I hadn’t managed to steal the wand, things would have been very different.”

The bond throbbed in Harry’s head, and a strong peppermint flavor filled his mouth. He managed to keep from snorting, but barely. Tom didn’t know what to do with someone who admitted faults and weakness and that he might be wrong. He certainly didn’t get that kind of humility from the pure-bloods.

“What would happen, do you think, if we asked you to cast with the wand in front of us?” Harry asked.

Pettigrew gave him an assessing glance that reminded Harry abruptly that, untalented or not, very few students had got away with cheating or carelessness in Pettigrew’s Transfiguration classes. “I don’t know. It might not respond to me at all.”

“But you think it might?”

“If I wasn’t mistaken about the aura it had.”

“A good thing I brought it with us, then,” Tom said, and took the wooden box he’d borrowed from McGonagall out. He opened it with a flourish like a Muggle magician producing a trick. Pettigrew blinked, uncertain again. Harry sighed.

_Don’t compare me to a Muggle._

_Why are you so determined to overset him? I think we can see by now that he’s not a traitor Dumbledore planted._

Tom ignored him, extending the box to Pettigrew. Pettigrew studied the wand for a moment, then reached out a hand. The wand levitated from the box before he could touch it and smacked into his palm.

There was a chorus of distant voices that reminded Harry, for a moment, of phoenixes singing together, and then sparks like a wildfire rained from the end of the wand. Pettigrew yelped and managed to turn it so that it was pointing away from them. Harry watched the red and gold cascade, and had to smile. “Gryffindor colors?”

“Those were the colors of the sparks when I got my first wand, too.” Pettigrew stared. “I swear, Minister, I didn’t mean to attack you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Tom said, straightening his robes, and Pettigrew looked nervous again.

_Seriously, stop being a fucking arsehole._

Tom didn’t reply, but he did twitch his shoulder in an annoyed way and then modulate his tone when he spoke again. “No, Professor Pettigrew, I know there was no attack intended. But I _am _curious about why the wand felt so dead to us and is so alive with you. May I?” He held out his hand for the wand.

Pettigrew started to hand it to him, but the wand abruptly clung to his fingers. Pettigrew blinked and shook his hand. The wand continued to cling. “I’m sorry,” he said, almost stammering. “Really, this is most unexpected.”

Tom eased his hand back, his expression calm, for all that behind it, Harry could feel his mind running furiously. “Interesting. Most wands will submit easily enough to an inspection.”

“Yes. And I want this one to, too!” Pettigrew pulled the wand free from his fingers and tried to hand it over again. This time, the wand appeared to have cemented both of his hands to the wood. Pettigrew looked more than a little aghast. “I really have _no _idea what’s happening. I’m sorry.”

“It’s a good thing,” Harry interrupted, before Tom could make Pettigrew the subject of some kind of experiment.

“Oh?” Tom looked at him, while the bond sang a sharp note.

“It means that we can be sure the wand doesn’t want to go back to Dumbledore,” Harry said, glancing at Tom, and plucked the bond himself. _You know that he would be more dangerous if he was armed._

_He is dangerous enough for figuring out a way to resurrect the soulmate bond, but you are right, _Tom said, and nodded. “That is true, although I would still like to examine it, to determine why it was so inert when we tried to sense it.”

“I’d like to make sure you have the chance to do so, Minister. Let me try something.” Pettigrew shut his eyes.

Harry had some idea of what he was going to try, having seen his demonstration on the first day of class with him, and thought it a bit clever. Sure enough, when Pettigrew changed into a rat, the wand clattered to the desk, and Tom reached out and snatched it up before Pettigrew could change back into a man.

“Fascinating,” Tom breathed.

Harry shifted towards him, trying to figure out why, but thought he had when he was close to it. If someone had asked him whether it was a plain piece of wood or a wand, he would have said that it was a plain piece of wood without hesitation, or else a wand that had been broken and then subjected to a _Reparo _Charm. You couldn’t fix a wand that way, but Harry knew people who had tried when they were in Hogwarts.

“What do you think you’ve learned about it, sir?” Pettigrew had transformed back, smoothly, on the other side of the desk.

“Its loyalty is to you and only you,” Tom said. “I am not sure why, but I agree with my soulmate that it doesn’t want to return to Dumbledore. I thought perhaps I would sense some hostility to my handling it, but no, it simply remains dead.” He turned, aiming the wand at the far wall. “_Reducto_!”

There was nothing, not even a trace of the sparks that had rained from it when Pettigrew picked it up. Harry, because he was polite like that, glanced at Pettigrew for permission before he reached out and picked up the wand. He aimed it himself and murmured, “_Lumos._”

No reaction. He might as well have picked up a twig from the forest floor.

“I do know a little bit about wandlore,” Tom said, as he handed the wand back to Pettigrew. “And I know this is highly unusual.”

“Do you think—well, perhaps it was that I simply stole the wand from Dumbledore, Minister? Rather than won it?”

“Stolen wands wouldn’t give their allegiance to another wizard or witch in the way that a conquered one would, that much is true.” Tom was still watching the wand with a calculating gaze that reminded Harry of the way he used to think Tom did everything: cool, utterly detached from the world and consequences. “But they wouldn’t feel dead, either. I think that this wand wanted to make sure _no _one but you could use it, Professor Pettigrew.”

“I—see.” Pettigrew frowned at the wand, and then shrugged. “I’ll keep it safe, to make sure that Dumbledore can’t easily access it even if he does sneak into the school, sir.”

“The Headmistress said the same, but I’m not sure that any place here would match that definition of safety from him.”

“I’m going to take it to Gringotts.”

Tom nodded. “I see.” He stood. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Thanks,” Harry added, with a smile at Pettigrew, who nodded back to him with a strange little smile on his face. Harry wondered if maybe Pettigrew was glad to see that being the Minister’s soulmate was working out well for him, given that Harry had been his student and he might have worried about the consequences.

That made something in Harry relax. Whether Pettigrew had ever been brave enough to speak out against the Order’s idea that Harry had to maintain a distant stance towards his soulmate (or had even known about it), he approved now.

Sometimes, it was just nice to have more confirmation that people in the Order had been a bit mad.

*

“So why were you so interested in Pettigrew’s wand?”

They were lying in Tom’s bed after they’d made love, and Tom had been drifting towards sleep, wondering in the back of his mind if he would see another of Harry’s memories. Harry’s words, however, yanked him back to awareness.

And Harry was sending sharp flicks of interest down the bond, so he obviously wasn’t ready for sleep himself yet. Tom yawned. “This is what you wish to discuss now?”

“I didn’t do it earlier, did I?”

Tom smiled a little as he recalled the sweetness that was sharing orgasm with his soulmate, and shook his head. “Very well. There were rumors that when Dumbledore dueled Grindelwald and took that wand from him, it was the Elder Wand.”

“The _Elder Wand_? Like in the fairy story?”

“Fairy stories are sometimes true,” Tom whispered, his breath glancing over Harry’s ears and stirring shivers from him that made Tom wish he had nothing else to do in the world but this. “Or did you think that all the stories about soulmates were rubbish when you didn’t have one?”

“I knew people who were soulmates,” Harry countered. He shifted, and Tom concealed a smile at the burgeoning hardness against his thigh. “I don’t know anyone who believes in the bloody Deathly Hallows.”

“Remind me to introduce you to someone who does.”

“What?”

Tom chuckled. “Did you know someone at Hogwarts named Luna Lovegood?”

“Of course.” Harry narrowed his eyes after a second. “You’re saying that she believes in the Deathly Hallows?”

“I don’t know the girl personally.” Tom let his chin rest in the crook of Harry’s neck, only moving when Harry gave him an irritable shove. “But her parents certainly do. They’ve made it their lives’ work to seek them.”

“And do what with them?”

Tom shrugged. “If there are people in the world with a pure academic interest in such powerful objects, the Lovegoods are them. They want to behold them, I suspect. Photograph them. Talk to the people who own them. Write about them. That’s all.”

“And you think I should meet them?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“This is a time of prophecy,” Tom intoned in the deepest and gravest tone he could, and got Harry to stare at him with wide eyes for three whole seconds before the bond gave the truth away and Harry hit him over the head with a pillow. Tom ducked, laughing, giddy—for the first time in his life, perhaps—and overwhelmed by the surge of love and normality.

That he had to lived to do something like _this _with his soulmate…

“The real reason.”

“It’s not far off what I told you.” Harry hefted the pillow threateningly, and Tom shook his head. “No, I mean it. We have a prophecy in play, and while it might not come true, we should be prepared for it. We have the Elder Wand apparently _seeking _retirement, rather than coming out of it, and rejecting Dumbledore. I’m at least willing to listen to what people who have dedicated their lives to studying the Hallows say.”

“It _might not _come true?”

“It was something I was thinking, but I wasn’t sure until I saw the memory that Pettigrew put in the Pensieve.” Tom wrapped his hand around Harry’s and tugged gently until Harry was lying against his chest, head tucked in the corner of Tom’s own shoulder. “Fawkes approached Pettigrew to fight for him. What does that tell you?”

“That phoenixes are really good at seeing potential?”

“That at least one legend about phoenixes is true,” Tom said, while kissing the faded scar on Harry’s forehead for the cleverness of that answer. “They cannot act directly to influence the world, at least not without help. Fawkes could have done something to have barred Dumbledore’s entrance to the school. Instead, he sought out someone who was supposed to help him, and who did manage it.”

“_Would _he do something to bar Dumbledore’s entrance, though?” Harry bit his lip, his brow wrinkling, so that Tom had to kiss it again. “I mean, he used to be Dumbledore’s companion.”

“That has nothing to do with it now,” Tom said. “He obviously opposes him. No, the legend I was referring to, Harry, is that phoenixes are agents of fate and destiny. They choose people to help them, to play certain roles. But taking too much direct action would, according to that particular tale, destroy the world.”

“Let’s avoid that, right,” Harry said, while the bond trembled a bit in the back of Tom’s mind. “But why?”

“Phoenixes are too _much_,” Tom said simply. “Too much fire, light, life. They’re immortal, and they’re the only creatures we’re aware of in the magical world who are so without draining someone or something else. Vampires have to live on blood, Dementors on souls, sea serpents on that special kind of water the Muggles are making so much noise about lately. Phoenixes can exist without that, though.”

“I know other creatures who can be immortal without that kind of draining.”

“What?”

“Soulmated couples who love each other enough and have enough power.”

Tom kissed him, and the kiss got complicated and interesting enough that he nearly forgot his point. But Harry pulled back, with a faint smile Tom was never going to get enough of, and asked, “Phoenixes?”

Tom cleared his throat. “Soulmated couples bonded at that level still need each other and can’t be immortal alone. One of them dies if the other does, even if they were immortal up until that point. Phoenixes are responsible for their own rebirth. Not even the Killing Curse does anything except cause them to burn. Nothing else we know of is like that. The theory—”

“Or legend.”

“Is that they must have far more powerful magic than anything else we know of to maintain that state. Imagine them turning that magic on the world. They might regenerate the whole world. Or they might destroy it in their quest to make it immortal.”

“You think that’s their quest?”

Tom snorted and tugged gently on a lock of Harry’s hair. Harry shook the bond, but then yawned. He had too little energy to even muster resentment right now, Tom thought.

_Well, I always knew that I would be good at shagging my soulmate._

Harry punched him in the shoulder with a closed fist and repeated, “Well? Is that their quest?”

Tom shook his head. “No. They do want to regenerate the world, but that means different things depending on the phoenix. Some of them serve one version of reality, some another. They use those people they think proper for the roles and play the games to avoid confronting one another and ending everything in disaster.”

“Are there only two sides?”

“I assume there are as many sides as there are phoenixes,” Tom murmured. “But right now, I suspect the only sides that need concern us is the one that wants Dumbledore to triumph and the one that doesn’t, represented by Fawkes.”

“It’s interesting that you don’t say Fawkes’s side is the one that wants _us _to win.”

_Still so clever, even in this state. _Tom nodded. “I don’t think we can be sure of that. Our triumph and Dumbledore’s not triumphing might be the same thing, or they might look very different. And I doubt Fawkes would answer our questions.”

“Do you think—”

Harry stopped, but Tom knew from the light flooding in through his side of the bond that he was still awake, so he looked down. Harry bit his lip and rolled slightly over on his side to return the glance. “Do you think that’s the reason you had a phoenix as your soul-mark? Together, we have the power to change the world? Or destroy it?”

“I don’t know,” Tom said, his hand getting tangled in Harry’s hair again. He pulled gently this time, and Harry huffed and shut his eyes. “This is only _one _of the legends about phoenixes, and I wouldn’t think it was the true one if we didn’t already have some evidence about the way Fawkes used Pettigrew as his tool. I’ve never known for sure what my soul-mark meant.”

Harry just nodded, but there was a muddled mix of emotions in the bond that made Tom spread his hand out over his shoulder and keep it there in a quiet hold. Harry finally sighed and said, “I wonder if the phoenix meant me. That’s something I couldn’t help wondering when my parents told me that you’d been born with a black-and-white phoenix on your chest. I grew up with the stories about phoenixes as symbols of Light and only Light, but the black feathers…”

“You wondered if you had the capacity for Dark Arts. And now you wonder if you have the capacity for that immense destruction.”

“Yeah.”

That was a hoarse whisper, and that wouldn’t do. Tom rearranged them so that they were still lying chest-to-chest but he could see Harry’s face. Harry fisted his hands in the sheets and didn’t look away, despite the fine tremble that Tom could tell was invading his muscles.

“Soul-marks are rarely unambiguous,” Tom said, and he let his fingers fall on the words that decorated Harry’s wrist. The soft blue flames sprang into existence. Tom didn’t think it was his imagination that they were feathered on the tips now, though, or that they were a deeper blue, more the color of ocean water than lightning. “Yours is a rare case. What my phoenix meant, I don’t think anyone will truly know. Dumbledore and your parents interpreted it one way. I interpreted it another.”

“What was your interpretation?”

“That my soulmate would be someone with whom I could share power of all kinds, the Light and the Dark, love and pain.”

Harry smiled, and his eyelids drooped a little, perhaps worn out by the thick emotion as much as the sex they’d had before that. “That’s a good interpretation.”

Tom kissed his forehead again and watched as Harry drifted off. He wondered, as he did, what would happen the next time they faced Dumbledore, and what part Fawkes, or some other phoenix who shared the same desired version of reality, might call on them to play.

But only one thing terrified him now, and that was losing Harry. He would have been consumed with doubt if he had thought he had to bear the burden of deciding the world’s fate alone.

As _two_, the doubt burned, and hope, Tom’s private phoenix, rose from the ashes.


	32. Burns

The sharp knock on the door of Tom’s office startled Harry, particularly since Tom wasn’t in. He sat back and opened his mouth to tell the person standing there that, then closed it again when he saw the person was Aelia Malfoy.

She remained there, staring at him, and Harry finally realized that she wouldn’t take the implied invitation. It probably wouldn’t be “proper.” Harry checked his sigh as he nodded. “You’re welcome to come in, Madam Malfoy.”

“I have learned what you wanted me to learn.”

Harry tilted his head as she spread out a clutch of parchment on the small desk Tom had placed for Harry next to his. He’d wanted to make it bigger, and Harry had said that “Minister’s soulmate” wasn’t either an elected or a paid position, so he would take the small one. As he watched Malfoy arrange things so that the papers were overlapping the least, he thought it was the first time he’d wished for a bigger one.

“The power levels vary. The Muggleborns sometimes show the highest power levels, depending on the year. Sometimes the half-bloods.” Malfoy’s hands hovered for a second over the largest piece of parchment, which Harry could see was a list of high OWL scores for what looked like the past five years. Students’ parents had to give permission for the publication, but they usually did, as long as the scores were Exceeds Expectations or above.

“Yes.” Harry said it quietly, but Malfoy glanced at him. “Do you see now why trying to run this society based on blood politics is ridiculous?”

“The Muggleborns and half-bloods still do not have as much knowledge as we do.”

Harry shrugged. “It depends on what you mean. I never heard that half-bloods raised by traditionalist parents are any different than pure-bloods, at least as far as ridiculousness goes.” Malfoy narrowed her eyes, but Harry kept on. “And the Muggleborns have all sorts of knowledge about the Muggle world that pure-bloods lack.”

“Why do we _need _knowledge about the Muggle world?”

Harry tapped the parchment. “Because none of this would be a surprise to them. They’ve done tests that prove humans have the same kind of blood. That heredity relies far more on unpredictable combinations of—traits from each parent than it does on a strict account of power levels.” At the last moment, he decided not to say anything about genes, which would just entail more explanation. “And they’ve also done studies that show children are influenced by who raises them and their peers at least as much, and in some cases more, than by their blood parents.”

Malfoy stared at the parchments with a frown. “You’re saying that if I had adopted my Muggleborn daughter, I could have raised her into a powerful Malfoy.”

“_You _were going to adopt a Muggleborn child?” Harry blurted out, and then cringed a little. _Wonderful, Harry, think about how that must have sounded._

But for once, the pure-bloods’ obliviousness to other people served him. Malfoy took no notice of his tone, only nodding a little. “I was thinking of it. There was a particularly appealing little girl whose parents knew about magic and who placed her on the steps of the Leaky Cauldron to give up because her accidental magic was violent against her relatives. She was blonde, and she had a personality I could see myself sculpting.”

“But?”

Malfoy glanced at him. “My brother reminded me that it was not proper, and that nothing could ever wash away the taint of her dirty blood.” She glanced at the parchments again, her face blank and smooth as glass. “But perhaps something would have.”

“Yes,” Harry said faintly. Now wasn’t the time talk about “dirty blood,” either. “What happened to her?”

“Someone else adopted her and moved out of Britain.” There was no emotion in Malfoy’s voice. She swept her nails lightly back and forth along the list of names. “So you want me to speak about this.”

“Yes, please. In the Wizengamot.” Harry leaned forwards. He probably couldn’t talk about regret, either. She would see admitting it as a weakness, and she hadn’t _sounded _regretful. “Imagine the way that other people would feel if they knew that adopting young Muggleborn children could increase the numbers of people who believe like them.”

Malfoy’s eyes glinted at him, steely. “You play the game as well as our Minister.”

“Game?” Harry asked, a little startled by her phrasing, but not thinking she meant the same thing as Tom did. Why would the pure-bloods have danced to Tom’s political tune for so long if they knew how he regarded them?

Malfoy leaned back in her chair. “The Minister only wants power for himself.”

Harry waited. He was hardly going to deny that. The part where Tom was willing to share power with his soulmate was, well, private.

“He doesn’t care about blood purity. He doesn’t care about preserving our traditions. He cares about staying in power. And he knows that people like me are the ones who can keep him there.” Malfoy stared at him. “But you want justice for Muggleborns and the like. So you pursue the path that will allow us to invest in your dream with you.”

Harry said nothing. That was dangerously clever, more than he had thought any pure-blood could be. It wasn’t that all of them were stupid, it was that they were so invested in believing themselves superior that they _had _to ignore contrary evidence lest their worldview start crumbling around them.

“The path that will lead _us _to power. Where did you learn to play that game, Harry Potter?”

_Dangerously clever. _But it hardly meant that Harry needed to spill all his secrets, even so.

He let his lip rise a little, his eyes bore into Malfoy. “Where do you think I learned it, growing up in an Order of fanatics who wanted to destroy my soulmate?”

“And you wanted to prevent them,” Malfoy said, apparently overlooking the possible complexities of the situation, which was fine with Harry. “Yes, I can see how that might teach you some intrigues.” She stared at him with those pearl-like eyes and then asked, “How much?”

“For what?”

“What amount of money, or favor, would convince you to turn the game in our direction? Your soulmate was not meant to be Minister forever, but he seems to intend it. And you know that while your desire to protect Muggleborns is sincere, his is not. I have told you that I nearly adopted a Muggleborn girl. Why can we not use this information, this alliance, to pry the Minister from power?”

Honestly, to Harry’s shame, he did consider it for a moment. He didn’t really enjoy politics or being the soulmate of the Minister.

But it wasn’t as though a pure-blood like Malfoy in the position would be any better, or would continue the “reforms” for Muggleborns without someone to push them along that path. Harry was only achieving what he was because he was sleeping in the Minister’s arms. So he met Malfoy’s eyes and shook his head a little.

She lowered her voice, until it sounded more like a humming harpstring than anything else. “There are ways to block the soulmate bond. Perhaps no one ever taught them to you because they were so bent on keeping you from reaching that destiny, but I can teach you. You _can _lie to him.”

“I don’t wish to,” Harry said, and that was true. He would have to talk to Tom about his dislike of politics if he wanted to change his mind, not go around doing something about it behind his back. “Now, will you bring up this information about Muggleborns in the next Wizengamot session, or shall I bring it up and you’ll back me?”

Malfoy’s eyes widened a little. Then she said, “I was lying about adopting a Muggleborn girl. I was trying to get you to empathize with me more, to see things from my point-of-view.”

“Perhaps you were. But I can tell you the Wizengamot that you told it to me anyway.”

“They will never believe you.”

Harry had to snort about that. “Are you so sure? You don’t think they’ll eagerly seize on any evidence that could weaken you in their eyes?” And of course the pure-bloods would think it was a weakness, to be sentimental over the fate of a Muggleborn, even to care about raising one in Malfoy’s own image.

“It is a lie.”

“And we both know, of course, that you are so beloved in the Wizengamot that everyone would believe you were telling the truth about that.”

Malfoy clenched her hands and stared at him in silence. Harry just raised his eyebrows, with what he had to admit was mockery.

“Why are you so _stubborn_?” Malfoy whispered. “I know you grew up entirely in the wizarding world; why do you care so much about Muggleborns and Muggles?”

Harry shrugged. “My parents taught me that they were people, too. One of my best friends in school was Muggleborn. I saw no reason to think that half-bloods were less powerful than pure-bloods, or that you were right about Muggleborns, either. If you want people to believe your propaganda, perhaps you should make it more convincing.”

Malfoy looked away from him. “We are prepared to offer you a place in whatever government we will form after Riddle is removed as Minister.”

“Whatever government.” Harry fought for a second against the laughter bubbling up in him, then let it go. Malfoy’s lips pinched down until they were invisible, but that wasn’t Harry’s problem. “You don’t even know who would take his place, do you? You hate him, but you also can’t form a strong faction to oppose him because you hate each other, too. Merlin, this is _funny._”

Malfoy locked her hands together. “You could have a position of power that you do not even _understand _if you worked with us.”

“Because I don’t understand it, it’s less temptation for me.” Harry smiled with only his lips. “But I understand two things.”

“What?” Malfoy’s voice sparked, and Harry wondered that anyone had ever thought her cold mask was unbreakable.

“First, I know that you’ll always despise me for being a half-blood.” Harry gave her a full smile this time. “And second, I already have power that you don’t understand.”

He let it pool and flow around him, rising through the office and changing the walls as it passed. Some of them became constructions of shells; some turned to wood; one sprouted another enchanted window that twisted like an open eye and showed a vision of underwater kelp forests. The hovering magic reached the ceiling, and it became pearl and gold with a huge chandelier hanging from it.

Malfoy sat where she was and stared at him.

“It would all be real, if you touched it,” Harry told her softly. “I’m stronger than you are. You’ll have to live with that. Take your research with you when you leave. And remember that you’ll still need to present the information in the Wizengamot as we agreed, or you don’t want to see what will happen.”

Malfoy stood up and walked out of the office. Harry watched her go, then pulled his magic back into his body.

“You enjoyed that,” Tom said mildly as he stepped out from behind the door that led to a small anteroom where he’d been having his own meeting with Arcturus Black.

Harry shrugged. “Yes. And she probably thought it was illusion. If she’s so dedicated to staying in power that she thinks I’d betray you…”

“It’s real.” Tom reached out and pushed a little on a corner of the wall that had been made of shells until a moment ago. “I know that. Harry, I know you better than any of them, and I hope that you wouldn’t think I’d require you to remain in a position of political power given how much you hate it.”

“But you love it.” Harry relaxed back into his chair and studied Tom. “I wouldn’t want to make you give up being Minister, either.”

Tom inclined his head, a barely-noticeable nod towards the fact that he preferred to remain where he was. “But you can step back. You can work behind the scenes. And if you ever grow to hate being so much in the political eye to the point that it interferes with our bond…”

“Yes?” Tom had deliberately suppressed the bond during Harry’s meeting with Malfoy, because he’d wanted to see how Harry did on his own and they needed to practice being in their own minds more, as he’d told Harry. But Harry felt it quivering on the side of his mind now like a butterfly in a cocoon.

“Then we’ll leave.”

Harry swallowed. “I _told _you that I didn’t want to make you give it up.”

“But if you ever start hating it that much, then you’ll hate it more than you like giving me what I want.” Tom’s voice was soft as he leaned over and traced a fingernail up the corner of Harry’s face, around his eyesocket. “You and our bond matter more to me than the Minister’s position. It’s only that if you _can _tolerate my being in the office, then I would prefer to stay here.”

Harry nodded and reached up to clasp his hand around Tom’s wrist. “How would I ever accomplish my grand plan to make you betray your own political principles and champion mine if we left?”

Tom smiled, and then he laughed. He bent down and captured Harry’s lips. Harry gave in to the bond surging between them, in colors as bold and deep as a summertime meadow streaked with sunlight.

Tom pulled his head back with a little sigh, and murmured, “I must admit that I would at least like to stay in power until the Dumbledore situation is settled.”

Harry nodded. “Of course. We need to bring him down, and we need to know where in the world Grindelwald went.” That had been one thing Pettigrew hadn’t accounted for, since he’d sensibly left the tunnel as soon as he could. It was incredible that he’d managed to capture Dumbledore’s wand at all.

“At least he doesn’t seem to be cooperating with his soulmate. That’s something. But Dumbledore’s doubled powers worry me.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, because the bond was vibrating and jumping between them, but the emotions that flooded down it were too warm for worry. “Tom? Did you have something you wanted to ask me?”

Tom touched his hands lightly. “I know that you’ve done remarkable feats of magic, and each time, I was there, which means that I could have been feeding into your power passively. But we need to start training _together. _To have the skill to oppose Dumbledore with those fourfold powers that we’re destined to have.”

Harry listened to the bond for a moment, and then laughed. “The notion of those powers makes you _excited_, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does.” Tom gave him a brief smile. “But I’m serious about the need to train. And that means that we both need to do our part. You need to keep visiting Healer Laufrey. And I need to introduce you to someone I’ve been putting off the introduction of. I was worried that it might go badly.”

Harry swallowed. “A past lover?”

Tom stared at him. The bond turned a sickly yellow. “You think I would be _that _crass? Or that any past lover could matter compared to what I have with you?”

Harry shrugged and turned his face away, a little embarrassed. “I mean, you would keep someone like that around if it was for a practical purpose. You would expect me to get over my embarrassment and any feeling that I was inadequate. So I don’t think it’s as terrible a suspicion as you—_will you stop laughing at me_?”

“No one could compare to you,” Tom murmured, and kissed his forehead, while the bond still coruscated with laughter. “I had other lovers because I wanted to make sure that I had the skill to make my soulmate feel good, but I kept none of them. Most of them were the kind of people who wanted absolute devotion, anyway, and I could never have given that to them.”

“For the same reasons that you were telling me that you would stay with me until your soulmate made you leave.”

“Yes. That it turned to be you is the greatest gift of my life.”

_He’s an evil prick, and then he says something like that. _Harry leaned on Tom’s arm, and it was only a few minutes later that he stirred and said, “You have someone you want me to meet? Or something you want to show me?”

“Both.” Tom’s hands closed on Harry’s shoulders and drew him gently out of the chair.

*

“_Nagini, come forth._”

Harry started at the Parseltongue words and gave him a strange glance. Tom ignored him, eyes still on the shadows stirring around the doorway that led into the drawing room. And then she slithered out, all the gorgeous meters of her, and came straight towards Harry, who was staring at her in—

_Fascination. Good. _Tom relaxed. He had been worried, despite Harry’s understanding of Parseltongue, that it would be revulsion.

“She’s beautiful,” Harry breathed, and Nagini, who recognized that word well enough, turned her head and flickered her tongue out as she showed off the scales on the side of her neck to Tom’s bondmate. “She’s your familiar, right?”

Tom nodded. “I didn’t dare let most people know about her. They would know what I realized when I bonded with her.”

“Which is what?” Harry knelt down on the floor, fearless, and Nagini slithered over and entwined herself around his arms. She made approving comments about his warmth in Parseltongue, which caused Harry to smile.

“I had a living soulmate.”

Harry frowned. “I don’t understand. I mean, either part. Why you had to be careful not to refer to Nagini around anyone else or why anyone would assume that you _didn’t _have a living soulmate. You were searching for me so devotedly.”

Tom nodded and sat down beside Harry. Nagini deigned to drape part of her tail in his lap, but she was busy smelling Harry and demanding that he scratch her behind the head, where her skin was beginning to split.

“Bonding with a familiar on a level as deep as I did with Nagini couldn’t be done by someone whose soulmate is dead, or who has broken the bond,” Tom said. “I actually thought that Dumbledore might have broken his bond with Fawkes because he rejected his bond with Grindelwald, at least until I came upon the theory about phoenixes being servants of fate instead and seeking the people who can help them achieve that fate. And many people assumed that my bond was broken when my soul-mark was burned off.”

Harry blinked at him for a second, then at the phoenix of onyx and diamonds hanging around his neck. Tom had thought of taking it off, but after this long, it felt part of him almost in the way Harry’s mark was. “But you were still searching…”

Tom nodded. “There were others who assumed that I was a fool, however. They would have been _much _more dangerous if they knew about Nagini and realized I was right and they were wrong. And they might have had the resources and time to search more openly for my soulmate, and destroy you if they found you.”

“How? You had all those spells and counters all over the Ministry…”

Nagini shoved her head at him. “_Talk about boring things later. Scratch now._”

Harry did with a helpless smile, and Tom took up the conversation again as much as he wished he could just sit there and watch his soulmate rejoice with his familiar. “What if my soulmate had been born in another country? Or had died? It’s not like I would have known for sure, not with my soul-mark gone. Oh, yes, I had the bond with Nagini, but all that proved was that my soulmate had been alive or unborn when I bonded with her. It didn’t guarantee they still were.”

Harry reached over and took his hand, while the bond throbbed as if the hooting of an owl were echoing through it. “I’m sorry I made it so difficult for you. I just—the Order—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tom said, and drew Harry back to rest against him. Nagini came with them and curled up around them both, distracted even from the itching of her old skin by the fact that they were together, at last, and Harry had taken to her so easily. “You are here now.”

Harry sighed and relaxed. But the bond remained alert in the way that meant he wasn’t going to sleep, and finally he asked mentally, as soft as new dawn, _Was there a particular reason that you wanted me to meet Nagini now and not later? _

Tom stroked the nape of Harry’s neck with his knuckles. He had a remarkable soulmate. _Later, _Harry said, and not earlier, forgiving something that another might not.

“I think we’ll need ritual magic, you and I, to defeat Dumbledore and Grindelwald,” he murmured. “And for that ritual, we’ll need Nagini’s help.” He paused, and Harry shifted so that he could look up at him. “And you’ll need to bond with a snake as well.”

*

“Are you willing to swear the oaths that we’ve asked of you?”

Molly glanced over at Arthur. He gently touched her shoulder. They were in the middle of a long corridor that ran between the Ministry holding cells, which they’d only spent a few hours in. The rest of the time, they’d been, confusingly, in a cozy if small flat, or around Sirius, James, and Lily.

“Yes,” Molly said, and Arthur smiled at her as if the words had ended some private nightmare he’d been having. Their bond twanged gently as he stepped up next to her and held out his hands.

The Auror who had been assigned to be their Bonder nodded, and then the door at the far end of the corridor opened and the Minister stepped out. Molly gently blew out the air in her lungs. For some reason, even though she’d known they would make their oath not to work with the Order of the Phoenix again to some high-ranking Ministry official, it had never shadowed her mind that it would be him.

“Molly and Arthur Weasley,” Riddle murmured as he stepped in front of them. The phoenix pendant around his neck swung a little and then came to a stop. Molly tore her gaze from it and sent her eyes back to Riddle’s face, surprising what looked like a small amused smile there. But then it was banished, and Riddle nodded to her as he held out his own hands. “Clasp one of them each.”

Arthur took Riddle’s left hand in what seemed like intimidated silence, but Molly did have to speak up, if only to find out why things were so different than she’d thought they were. “Why are _you _the one doing this, sir?” she asked, as she took his right. It was warm and slightly dry, without the chill reptilian texture that she’d imagined it would have.

“There is nothing I would not do to oblige my soulmate.”

Molly sighed a little. Of course. It was hard to realize how much they owed to Harry, after what Ron and Hermione had done to him.

But she could do nothing to reverse that, or for Ron and Hermione right now. She settled back into stillness and waited for the first words of the demanded oath.

“Do the both of you swear that you will never take up arms against the Ministry again, except in self-defense?” Riddle asked. His voice had a slight hiss to the edges, perhaps at the thought of them fighting against the Ministry when he’d gone out of his way—and Molly knew he had—to give them good treatment.

“I so swear,” Molly said, and Arthur was able to say it with her, since they had such a complete soulmate bond. The words flowed from them and formed into a bond of fire around their clasped hands.

The Auror standing next to them sucked in a harsh breath, but Molly wasn’t sure why. Maybe the oath Riddle was asking for was milder than the one the Auror had expected.

Riddle stared into her eyes. “Do the both of you swear that you will never again communicate with Albus Dumbledore except under orders from me or Harry Potter, by letter, mental communication, Floo, face-to-face, or any other way you can comprehend?”

“I so swear,” Molly said, and as Arthur’s voice chimed along with hers, she felt the bond shiver with disgust. Neither of them _wanted _to have anything to do with the old man again. His fanaticism had got Ron and Hermione turned into Squibs.

Riddle nodded as the second band of fire joined the first. “Do the both of you swear that you will ask Harry Potter the instant you have a question about Ministry procedures or the justice of what you see?”

Molly blinked. That wasn’t an oath she had expected to swear. But she and Arthur spoke it, and the third band of fire, thicker than the others, as if this vow was more important to Riddle, appeared.

Riddle flexed his fingers back and forth for a moment, as if he was getting tired. Molly felt the power burning beneath his skin, and then she saw what the Auror must have noticed, and gasped aloud.

There was no Bonder. Riddle was doing this all by himself, with wandless magic. _Fourfold power, _Molly thought. _It has to be._

She felt stupid as she met Riddle’s eyes and watched the corners of his mouth turn up in a smug smile, but he didn’t taunt her. He only said, “Do the both of you so swear that you will not engage in terrorist activities of the kind that you undertook in the Order of the Phoenix, except at the order of myself, the Wizengamot, or Harry Potter?”

“I so swear,” Molly said, Arthur’s voice only a beat behind.

She was still shaking as the oath finished and tightened around all their wrists in brilliant ribbons that, after a moment, faded. It was one thing to know that Riddle had claimed his soulmate and Harry was happier there than he had been with the Order, something Molly unfortunately had no reason to doubt.

It was another thing to know that Riddle, the man she was used to thinking of as a fearsome Dark Lord bent on genocide, could _love_, and that Harry loved him.

“Good,” Riddle said, standing back to his full height. “Now, I have the flat where you stayed last night prepared for you, or Lily and James Potter have invited you to stay with them. It’s up to you.”

Molly blinked, and blinked again. She glanced at Arthur, and he was the one who answered, probably because he’d felt her confusion thrumming through the bond. “We would like to stay with the Potters. Thank you.”

Perhaps only Molly knew how great the bitterness was behind the words that Arthur just barely managed to force out, but Riddle only smiled and nodded as if they were all the best of friends. “Then follow me to the Atrium. The Potters are waiting there to collect you, and they’ll guide you to your temporary home.” He turned around.

“Why are you doing this?” Molly asked his back.

The Aurors shifted as if they thought it was a stupid question, or worse, but she couldn’t help it. Even if Riddle was really capable of love, that wasn’t the same as being capable of kindness. Molly had fought beside and against soulmated couples who were fierce and cruel in defense of their beloved and cared nothing for anyone else.

Riddle glanced over his shoulder. Molly shivered. There was the coldness, the indifference, that she had fully expected to see before this.

“Harry suffered when he lost his best friends from school,” Riddle said. “I didn’t want him to lose his parents, and we negotiated a pardon for them. His godfather is under more restrictions for _several _reasons, but he’s behaved with some sense. You have even more. Why should Harry suffer when you seem capable of behaving yourselves?”

And he turned and went down the corridor, and Molly started following before one of the Aurors standing beside them could push her.

That single glance was still with her, lingering as cold near her heart. Riddle was like one of those Dark Lords of legend whose only concern was their soulmate, then. Perhaps not ready to wage a war on Muggles and Muggleborns the way they had all thought he was, but deeply ready to do anything he must in protection of his soulmate, or anything that would make Harry happy.

_I pray that what makes Harry happy will never be a war._

*

Albus crouched beside the small, cool pond in front of him and splashed water onto his face. Then he sighed. Perhaps it was foolish to linger so close to Hogwarts, in a corner of the Forbidden Forest where he had built a version of the Order’s refuge by himself when he was still Headmaster and had imagined Riddle coming down on the school unheralded some night. But he had to have his wand back, and that was the place where the thief probably still dwelt.

He glanced to the side, and at the small flask that lay there, and then away again.

The effect of the Amortentia had ended, and with it, the love that he felt for Gellert. He could start it burning again, he knew. All he had to do was swallow the potion. He wouldn’t even have to use the rune or the rest of the ritual, now that he had already resurrected their bond. It was in hibernation, not dead.

But with the fading of the potion had come the fading of a veil from his mind.

Did he _want _to force Gellert into the bond? Did he want to force this war? If Riddle and Potter were going to win and become Dark Lords, what could someone whose bond and twofold magic only worked sometimes do about it?

He sat back on his heels, still staring at the vial, on the precipice of a decision that he knew he wouldn’t come back from.

He glanced up sharply as he heard a trace of sweet song from above him. When he looked up, _his _phoenix was perched there, a creature of stunning midnight blue and white, head cocked so that one sapphire eye was fixed on him.

“_Do you want them to win?_”

Albus swallowed. “I’m not sure I’m the right one to fight this war.”

“_This is not about you. This is about the innocents who will suffer if you don’t win._”

And the visions flooded out of the phoenix’s voice as it sang, and Albus saw them. Muggleborns in campus, lying dead in trenches. Muggles poisoned and dying by the millions. Muggle leaders controlled with the Imperius, launching their nuclear weapons at each other. Harry reduced to a slave with a collar around his neck, dazed with love and feeding magic to Riddle, who laughed, red-eyed, over a world of the dead.

Albus shuddered, and the song died. The phoenix ruffled its feathers and continued to watch him.

“But how can I win when I have only half the bond?” Albus said. “And that only with the help of a potion?”

“_How can you win if you refuse to try_?”

And that shamed Albus, at last, into picking up the potion. His hands were shaking, but he was resolved as he watched the phoenix swoop down from the branch and vanish into nothingness.

_Someone _had to fight Riddle and Potter.

He swallowed the potion, and the burn of it cut through his doubts and pain. Albus smiled, and turned his head.

He could feel Gellert’s pulse now, in the distance. He would go and fetch his bondmate, and then he would get back to his war.


	33. Darkness

“And you’re sure that it’s going to be completely safe?” Peter couldn’t help asking for the fifth time as he walked towards the cart that waited at the vault door. He glanced back at his vault, but the door had already sealed, and he couldn’t see the Elder Wand.

“It almost seems as if you don’t trust us, sir.” The goblin who had led him to the vault turned around and squinted at him with eyes deep enough that Peter winced. When goblins started to look like that, and when they got polite, it meant they were angry enough to be about to attack.

“I’m sorry.” Peter managed to hold himself back from flinching. He remembered Fawkes’s soft song and the touch of the phoenix’s beak to his face. He had been brave enough to face down a wizard much more powerful than himself. That had to mean he could face down goblins, too. “But I recovered that wand from a wizard who will want it for himself. I’m nervous about him tracking me down, that’s all.”

The goblin considered him, then snorted and resumed the walk to the cart. “Fine. It still smacks of distrust for you to doubt the security of the vaults.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter repeated, and then settled into the cart for the ride back to the surface with a long sigh. He would have to hope that Dumbledore didn’t figure out where he had taken it, and didn’t attack the bank with twofold power that was enough to bring down the vaults.

Then again, Riddle, also a powerful wizard, and Harry, his soulmate, who probably had _fourfold _power, had touched the wand and said it was dead to them. Maybe that meant that if Dumbledore broke into the bank and got it back, he still couldn’t use it?

Peter shook his head. It still felt like a chain of suppositions to him.

Then again, keeping the wand with him when he didn’t have the power to use it felt like an even worse wager. He would just have to do the best he could, and hope it didn’t work out badly.

*

This time, no one had obstructed his walk through the secret tunnel. Albus straightened up outside it and checked his Disillusionment Charm. For being wandless, it was holding up well.

He smiled. That naughty Gellert. Well, he couldn’t prevent the power their bond gave him from flowing to Albus, and he couldn’t do anything to stop Albus once he had the Elder Wand back. Albus turned and began walking up the corridor towards his old office, humming to himself. There were devices there that he had modeled after the Marauder’s Map James and Sirius had made. With them, he could scan the whole of the school and find the Elder Wand’s hiding place.

And then, he could do what he was meant to do, and protect the magical world from the triumph of two Muggle-hating man.

_Why does the magical world never realize it’s in danger? _Albus asked himself as he came to a halt outside the gargoyle. _Why did it not realize it when Tom Riddle started running for office? They should have known that someone who was that slick and seemed so promising was up to no good. They should have known that those two children had a reason for burning his soul-mark off his chest. They probably foresaw what he would do._

Well, it did no good to speculate on the past. Albus sighed and spoke to the gargoyle. “Licorice whips.”

The gargoyle didn’t move. Albus gave a disgusted shrug. He should have known Minerva would change his password, but it had been worth a try. He reached out and placed his hand on the gargoyle’s head, directing a long flow of power into it. He had made sure ages ago that his command over vital things in the school would go undisturbed, since it was tied to the position he held as Headmaster. And Tom Riddle hadn’t formally removed him from that position.

For some reason, however, the top of the gargoyle’s head exploded into a cascade of sparks, and Albus snatched his hand back, staring. Riddle hadn’t removed him formally as Headmaster, but _someone _had.

“You should have known better than to think it would be that easy, when your office has accepted me.”

Albus made a show of reluctance as he turned and his Disillusionment Charm dropped. In fact, he didn’t really _want _to duel Minerva. She wouldn’t overcome him when he had twofold power, even if he was currently wandless, but he didn’t want to hurt her, either. She had stood by his side loyally for many years, even when she was being a bloody inconvenient ally, and even when she had broken with the Order of the Phoenix’s ideals.

“Minerva,” he told her gently, watching her red-flushed cheeks and the way she gripped her wand. “Whatever lies Riddle and Potter have told you about me, they are not true.”

“Your own behavior was all the excuse I needed,” Minerva snapped, and stalked a little closer. Albus approved of that. His wandless spells were most potent close-to, where he could catch a limb and tug someone from their feet, or smother them in Transfigured material, or simply Stun them. “What were you _thinking, _trying to sneak into the school?”

“I’m thinking that I need my wand back, Minerva, and you would not have granted it to me.”

“It’s not _your _wand now.”

Albus sighed, despite the way that his heartbeat suddenly echoed in his ears. “You think someone taking it away from me is the same as someone winning it in a fair duel? I promise you, Minerva, it’s _not _the same. On the other hand, there’s no need for a duel that would destroy half of Hogwarts and might cost innocent lives. Give me my wand, and I will go my way and let you be unharmed.”

“What a _generous _offer.”

“Well, yes. I thought it was.”

Minerva’s wand snapped into her hand. Albus raised his own hand, keeping his face mild and his actions slow. There was still the chance that she would see sense and back down before a fight started.

“Professor Legion,” said Minerva, her voice sharp, precise, “if Professor Dumbledore moves, you know what to do.”

“Yes, Headmistress.”

Albus twitched a little, not liking the idea that standing somewhere out of sight—even her voice had been altered so that he couldn’t pinpoint the source—was Juliet Legion, their NEWT Potions professor. She was a vicious woman whom Albus had never trusted, but after Riddle had taken control of the Ministry and poured so much money into Hogwarts, Albus had largely lost control of hiring. She knew Dark magic that might explain who had taken his wand from him in the corridor below Hogwarts.

“I hope that you won’t do anything impulsive, Professor Legion,” he said, raising his voice a little. “You might as well know that I have resurrected the bond with my soulmate and have twofold magic. Remember that I was powerful already, and estimate your chances if you have to face me.”

Legion said nothing in response. Albus hoped that meant she was reconsidering her stance on Minerva’s side, although probably not, given that she was Dark and her own soulmate was Pomona Sprout, the Hufflepuff Head of House. She probably thought her own fourfold power could match his.

_Let’s find out, _Albus thought, and aimed his hand towards Minerva, willing power through it that ought to force her back and make her heart stutter. Not enough for a heart attack—he would never do that to a dear former friend—but enough to take her out of the battle, freeing him to concentrate on Legion.

Minerva moved out of the way with a mocking smile, at the same time as something heavy and warm collided with Albus’s back. He went down, gasping, on his knees, and tried to struggle out of what felt like a huge heated blanket draped over him. He did manage to roll onto his back, but not further than that.

A brown bear’s face snarled an inch from his own. Albus froze in sheer surprise. He hadn’t realized that Legion was an Animagus.

But surprise couldn’t keep him pinned by itself, not when he knew what he was dealing with. He gathered more of the same wandless force he’d planned for Minerva between his palms, and slammed them down into the floor.

The force propelled him straight upwards, and although it didn’t carry him as far as it might have without the weight of the bear on him, it still got him out of his prone and trapped position. Albus staggered back to his feet on the other side of the corridor while the bear stood up and shook her head.

This time, Albus aimed his hand at her. He still didn’t wish harm on anyone else here, but the Legion had managed to be in his employ for eight years and he’d had no idea she was an Animagus…he had to take out an opponent this dangerous before she revealed some other unexpected talent.

But he had to shift his focus again before he could do that, this time to raise a wandless shield against Minerva’s Stunner. He couldn’t help the stare he gave her, and he hated the edge of the smile that lifted her lips in return, even more mocking than the previous one.

“How dare you come back to the school you abandoned and assault my professors?” Minerva whispered. “Why did you come back?”

“All I wanted was my wand! I would have departed in peace if you’d given it to me.”

Albus had started out almost shouting indignantly, but towards the end, he managed to tame his voice. The last thing he wanted was for students to become involved, one reason he’d come so late at night when most of them would already in their common rooms. But he supposed he should give up on persuading Minerva.

This time, he bent all his concentration and will except for the part holding the shield into a simple Summoning Charm. _Accio Albus Dumbledore’s wand!_

There was no response, not so much as a flicker. Albus felt a moment of greyest despair before he forced his reaction down. Then he glanced at the bear.

She was gone. In her place, one hand to the back of her head as if he had hit her there, was Pomona Sprout. And behind her was Juliet Legion, one arm curved protectively around her soulmate, her wand as steady on Albus as Minerva’s.

This time, Albus really couldn’t prevent the words that spilled from his lips. “You kept _this _from me all these years, Pomona?” The only people who had worked for him longer were Minerva, Filius, and Binns.

“I kept it secret from everyone except my soulmate,” said Pomona, glancing at him coolly. “And as you made it clear from the start of my soulmate’s tenure here that you weren’t going to trust a _Dark _witch, I never saw a reason to inform you.” She gently touched Legion’s arm. “I promise that I’m fine, dearest. Worry about him.”

Something like a knife pushed in under Albus’s heart. He would never have that with Gellert, since his soulmate persisted in not loving Albus the way he _should_—

But then the bright cascade of love poured down on him again. What did that matter? He loved Gellert exactly the way he was, and that was enough for the bond, and _that _was enough for the safety of the world. Albus didn’t need personal happiness. He was a humble servant of the greatest possible happiness for the greatest possible number.

He said, “Professor Legion, if you aim your wand at me, I am going to strike as hard as I can.”

Legion didn’t respond. She was a tall woman with dark hair always bound beneath a scarf on her head, and grey eyes that Albus had never liked meeting, for fear of what he would see in them. Now, she stepped away from Pomona as the poor woman had commanded, and drew a flask with a shifting green potion in it from her robe pocket.

Albus couldn’t help staring. “Battle draughts?”

Legion only offered him the same kind of mocking smile that Minerva had—at least Albus thought he knew who had corrupted her now—and hurled the flask into the air. It clanged to a stop about a meter away from Albus as if on an invisible shelf and began to pour the thick green potion all over the floor. Albus backed hastily away. Battle draughts had various effects, from turning the enemy to stone to bewildering their minds so badly they couldn’t cast magic. He, and more importantly, the world and the people that depended on him, couldn’t afford for him to be caught here.

He tried again, this time screaming it aloud and not caring who heard him. “_Accio _the Elder Wand!”

There was a long, drawn-out gasp that might have come from any of the three women around him, and—

Albus strained all his senses, ignoring the way the green potion was piling up in front of him, an effect he’d never seen before, forming a sludgy pile that was growing claws and arms. All he needed was an edge of response, and a sense of direction. He knew the school well. He would find his wand no matter where they had hidden it.

There was no hint of a response. At all.

The battle draught’s creature loomed before him, thick as though it was made of mud, but with brilliant glowing yellow eyes and a mouth that yawned open. Dripping fangs snapped at him. Albus backed up a step before he realized how fatal that was, how much confidence it would give to the enemy.

And then he saw the merciless look in Legion’s eyes, the way Pomona stared at him with contempt, the way Minerva was angling in from the side.

He had no idea where the wand was.

He turned and ran.

*

“I’m sorry that we didn’t catch him, Minerva.”

“You did better than anyone could have expected, against one of the most dangerous wizards in the world.” Minerva smiled wearily at Juliet and Pomona as they stood in front of her desk, subtly leaning on each other. Through long practice, she kept envy out of her voice and kept herself from rubbing her soul-mark that had turned dark with the loss of Elphinstone. “Even wandless, he’s still that.”

Juliet nodded, eyes fixed on her. “And what are you going to do now?”

“Report what happened to Minister Riddle. He has the Aurors and the time to deal with this. My primary duty remains to the school, to you and our students.”

“If you don’t need us for anything else, then…?”

Minerva shook her head, and watched as Juliet tenderly supported Pomona out of the room. Being tossed in her bear form was still rattling the woman.

Left alone, Minerva shut her eyes and worded the facts carefully in her head. They had done incredibly well, yes, and Minerva was happy that both Juliet and Pomona were on her side. But they had also lost Albus, and even though she had started running from her quarters as soon as she’d heard the wards scream about an intruder, Riddle was unlikely to look graciously on that.

Still, by the time she had worded the report in her head well enough that she thought she wouldn’t get herself _or _Juliet and Pomona in trouble, Minerva realized that her hand wasn’t shaking as she reached for the Floo powder.

The way it had been shaking during the encounter with Albus.

She feared Minister Riddle, formidable fourfold power and all, less than she did her former Headmaster and friend.

*

“_Nagini will help us._”

Harry nodded and moved slowly to stand at the opposite point of the silver circle, _pure _silver as far as he could tell, embedded in the floor of the house Tom had brought him to. Harry had looked around as they walked through the corridors, but hadn’t seen any family device that he recognized, or even any portraits. Maybe this had belonged to political enemies of Tom’s, or maybe it was connected to the heritage that he hadn’t told Harry about in any detail.

_Curious, dear one? What is it? _

Harry swallowed as he looked up at his soulmate again. “I was just wondering—where you came from. What your family was like. I’ve heard the stories and the rumors, but that’s all they seem to be, without substance. Except that you can obviously claim descent from Salazar Slytherin, of course.”

Tom’s eyelids drooped over his eyes. Then he said, “I don’t like to talk about it.”

“I realize that, which is why I haven’t asked until now.” Harry gestured with his hand around the circle, around the whole room where Nagini was crawling in a slow motion, without taking his eyes off Tom. “This house, for instance. It doesn’t look like a pureblood manor, but I don’t think a Muggleborn family would have had a house this big, either. Is it yours? Why?”

For a minute, Tom’s hand tightened on his wand. Then he relaxed and tucked it into his robe pocket. “_It appears that we won’t be conducting the ritual right this moment, Nagini._”

Nagini lifted her head high enough that Harry thought she was going to rear right off the floor. “_But the little one needs a snake._”

Harry hated how he flushed at the words. _Little one. _Well, he was shorter than Tom, and not as long as Nagini. But he wasn’t as short as some of the people he had known at Hogwarts. For a moment, his mind filled with the thought of little Colin Creevey.

Little Colin Creevey who had sent him a Howler the other day, because he was soulmated to someone Colin believed wanted only the worst for Muggleborns like him.

Harry sighed as he half-listened to Tom answering Nagini. He probably wasn’t going to get the best answer from Tom at the moment. But that didn’t matter. He had to _know_, and then he had to work to change things.

That was the way it was.

Tom nodded once and then said, “So you might have heard that my father was a Muggle and my mother a Squib of the Gaunt family.”

“Among other rumors,” Harry said, hoping to make Tom smile. Tom only gave him a somber look and went on talking.

“Those are the true _rumors. _My mother fell in love with my father, who was handsome.” Tom spent a moment touching his face. “I inherited my looks from him, although I fancy that I am better-looking.”

“Infinitely.”

Tom half-smiled. “Your opinion means little as someone who never saw my father, but I value it nonetheless.” He was quiet for a moment. “My mother used a love potion on my father. They married under its influence. After they were married and she knew she was pregnant, she was stupid enough to think she could discontinue feeding him the potion and get him to _love _her on his own recognizance.”

His eyes were distant, his voice caustic as he spoke of his mother, but Harry could feel the pain flooding, cold and silver, down the bond. He reached out and let a comforting hand of calm rest on Tom’s soul.

Tom closed his eyes, then nodded. “He rejected her. In fact, he was horrified to learn there was such a thing as magic, having never had a clue that our world existed. He returned to their home village, and my mother fled to London. She died on the steps of an orphanage, living long enough to name me. And I was raised by abusive Muggles.”

Harry took a long breath, but didn’t interrupt. The bond was singing like a strangled snake now, and Nagini had moved closer to Tom, staring at him in silence while her tongue darted out.

“I didn’t discover the truth of my family heritage until after I’d been at Hogwarts several years. I tracked down my mother’s remaining family members, but they wanted—nothing to do with me. Neither did my father or his parents. I wanted to kill them. It might have been better if I had.”

“What did you do?”

“Placed them under the Imperius Curse. I convinced my grandparents that they wanted to donate every bit of money they owned to various organizations. I let them choose the charities. I didn’t care. I wanted them to be _poor. _They ended up starving to death a few years after that.”

“And your father?”

The bond was as dark and thick as tar now, and Tom seemed to take the same amount of effort to force the words out that Harry would have had to use to move through real tar. “I trapped him in his mind. I convinced him that the reality of his leaving my mother behind had been a dream, and that she had been in control of his life from the point when she’d told him she was a witch. That I had grown up in this house with him, the true master of it along with my mother, while he _thought _he lived with only his parents. He ‘remembered’ waking up now and then from the spell, and then he would go back under it. The Imperius Curse reinforced the illusion until he couldn’t distinguish it from his own perceptions.”

“And what happened to him in the end?”

Tom met Harry’s gaze. “He went mad within a fortnight. He spent the rest of his life screaming his lungs out in the _home _where his parents placed him.”

Harry stared back with the pulse beating high and hard in his throat. He was sure Tom could have seen it even if he didn’t feel it through the bond. He swallowed and sought something to say.

“I’ll understand if you want to back away and not spend time with me for a while.”

Harry shook his head. “We’re not at the end of the story yet. What—why did you come to have their house?”

Tom shrugged. “My grandparents willed the house to an animal sanctuary. It was an easy thing to go to the sanctuary and use the Imperius Curse to make sure that they sold it to me at a cheap price.”

Harry stood there and tried to figure out how he felt about that. The emotions blended and mixed in him like running paint. Nagini slithered towards him and hissed, “_You smell like pain._”

Tom flinched slightly at the sound of that, but Harry lifted his head. “Not only pain,” he said, not sure if Nagini could understand the English words, but then, he wasn’t really speaking to her anyway. He stared Tom in the eye. “I should—dislike it more.”

“And me? Dislike me more?” Tom sounded as if he was perched on the edge of a cliff waiting for the answer.

“I should,” Harry agreed, and felt the bond flinch far more than Tom did across from him. Tom just seemed to sway back and forth a little. Harry lifted his head and forced himself to speak the words that burned in his throat. “But I don’t.”

“Tell me what that means, Harry.” Tom’s voice was a soft breath, and Harry thought the mental bond probably whispered the words to him far more than he was hearing them. A stray thought drifted through his head, something about how soulmates would know the bond between them was deepest when they didn’t bother to distinguish between spoken and mental communication.

But Harry just lsaid, “I hate what you did. I hate the thought of cursing someone with the Imperius Curse and driving them mad. Or starving them to death. It—it’s evil. It’s wrong.”

Tom nodded, but didn’t say anything or move, because he had to know as well as Harry did that more was coming.

“But there are two things,” Harry said, and glanced down at the mark on his wrist as the bond between them shimmered and danced like light on water. “Three things, really. First, it’s in the past, and I can’t time travel. I want you to make up for what you did. Rejecting you for it and screaming that you’re evil in your face won’t change anything.”

“Hardly.” Tom’s voice was soft, but Harry could hear the bite there, and the bond vibrated, once, as if the water could harden into ice and be plucked like an instrument.

Harry continued, more slowly, no longer as sure as he had been about what the right move was. “Second, our bond is complete. I’m _not _going to reject you. It’s just not going to happen.”

The ice melted and dawn raced through their bond, streaks of brilliant light. Harry tried not to smile, because he really did shudder at the thought of what Tom had done to his father and grandparents. He moved a little closer to Tom, but stayed on his side of the silver circle inlaid into the floor.

“And third,” Harry said quietly, “I hate them, too, for what they left you to.”

Tom was staring at him in a way that made Harry feel the sun might have gained eyes and landed in front of him. Harry felt his face warm, and breathed out as carefully as he could.

“No one has ever told me that before,” Tom breathed, and the bond sang and strummed and flooded Harry with warmth until he did have to come around the circle after all, damn their ritual preparations, and clasp Tom’s hands.

“How many did you let close enough to know you?” Harry asked gently. “I know that it wasn’t your fault that you were abandoned or that you had your soul-mark burned off.” Tom’s left hand twitched towards his jeweled phoenix, but Harry didn’t let it go. “But after that, the defenses you set up would have discouraged most people who wanted to get close.”

“And I did not want them close,” Tom murmured, his fingers flexing around Harry’s. “I knew they would have tried to know me because they were looking for political power, not because they wanted to sympathize with or help me.”

Harry nodded. “Right. I—I can’t pretend that I like what you’ve done, Tom.” He shuddered as he thought of Tom’s grandparents starving to death under the forceful compulsion to donate every piece of their money to charity, of Tom’s father trapped and screaming in his head. “But that’s why we have to move forwards and change things, because the answer isn’t abandoning powerful magical children to abusive homes or excusing the crimes of those who hurt you, either. I’d like to take some of those Galleons you keep offering me for my own use and set up a foundation.”

“To do what?”

“To work on ways of countering the Unforgivable Curses.”

Tom shifted within Harry’s hold, his fingers flexing back and forth. “So that if something like I did to my father happened again, you would have people available who would recognize it and—”

_Recognize it. _The words came from both of them, colliding and meeting in the middle of the bond like aimed curses.

Harry held Tom’s eyes much like he was holding his hands. “Yes. I don’t know if you would ever use the same trick twice after telling me about it, Tom. I don’t know if you’ve used it during other times that you don’t want to tell me about right now. But I do know that _no one _deserves to suffer that way. And you’re not the only wizard with the strength or skill or cruelty to have used that trick. We work on creating a staff of people who are experienced in treating the effects of the Imperius Curse and recognizing it, and treating the aftereffects of exposure to the Cruciatus. Maybe even teaching people to throw them both off, if we’re lucky.”

“And the Killing Curse?”

Harry swallowed. It wasn’t betrayal, he reminded himself. Not with everything the Order had done to _him. _He looked into Riddle’s eyes.

“Dumbledore was working on a ritual way of deflecting the Killing Curse, before he—went mad,” he admitted. “I don’t know the details, because it wasn’t a main project of the Order’s. They thought you would use subtler means until the war you were supposedly preparing for began. But I do know where the notes that he was working on are hidden.”

Tom was still for a moment, and then he reached out and wrapped the bond around Harry like the coils of a huge, warm snake.

_You know that you can trust me, don’t you, darling? _

Harry relaxed as much as he could when he was leaning back on nothing that was actually there, the defining coils of Tom’s snake of power. _Of course I do._

Tom caressed him with magic more than his hands, since his fingers were making only small movements, and then said, _Trust me now. _He released one of Harry’s hands and picked up his wand. Harry watched with half-lidded eyes and a heart that was beating fast despite himself as Tom held out his wand and—

_Tangled _it in their bond. Harry stared. He hadn’t known that was possible. He’d been around soulmated pairs for a long time, and none of them had ever done anything like this.

_They are not as brilliant as I am._

Harry snorted aloud. _Nor as conceited. _

_When one is so incredibly brilliant, Harry, this is simply acknowledging reality._

Harry twitched one shoulder in acknowledgment, and watched in fascination as Tom trailed silver threads behind his wand as he sketched a shape in the air. At first, it looked like a miniature of the silver circle on the floor in the room with them, but then it began to sprout dazzling complexities and dizzying half-circles. By the time that Tom seemed to have finished sketching, Harry was squinting, his eyes watering as he tried to grasp the shape.

_You don’t have to grasp it. The important thing is that you understand what it does. _

Harry eyed him. “What does it do, then?” he asked aloud, simply to emphasize the point that he didn’t know yet.

Tom closed his eyes and gathered up his magic, which Harry could feel, the power wavering and breathing around him like a great beast’s slow exhalations. Then he nodded and flung his wand out in front of him. “_Avada Kedavra_!”

Harry flinched back before he could stop himself, but even as he watched, the green curse struck the middle of the silver maze and froze there. Then it began to writhe back and forth like a lobster on the verge of being boiled.

Harry stared from Tom to the maze and back again. “What is going _on_?”

Tom replied in Parseltongue, his face slightly averted as if he didn’t want Harry to see the expression on it. Of course, the bond blazed with pride and shame and hatred and remorse, so that didn’t help much. “_I’m aware of some of the same research that Dumbledore must have been. People have been seeking a block to the Killing Curse as long as it’s existed without one. But the rituals have always been incomplete, and depended on being bound to a place and knowing ahead of time that someone is going to cast this particular curse at you. Unless you’re standing in that circle when it happens, the rituals are useless._”

Harry’s eyes flickered back to the maze. “But this isn’t?” It looked like a drawing someone might try to make for a ritual.

Tom shook his head. “_No. The essential part everyone was forgetting was soulmate magic. And even then, it might not have worked without a soulmate bond as powerful as ours. Until this moment, it was purely theoretical for me, as well, since I didn’t have you until recently.” _He tangled his fingers with Harry’s and tugged him closer to the maze. “_Come here, darling, look._”

Harry went with him, not reluctant but fascinated, and bent close enough to see the green curse impaled on what seemed to be the silver spikes of one of the maze’s half-circles.

“I don’t know what that means,” Harry admitted after staring at it for a little while. Even with the pooled magic of their bond flowing between them, he didn’t understand every nuance that Tom had tried to introduce or teach him.

For a moment, Tom’s chest inflated as if he didn’t want to explain what they were actually looking at. Then he exhaled and turned to look at Harry instead. “_I’ve taken the ability to cast the Killing Curse away from myself._”

For a long moment, Harry’s body locked in a shivering tension. But he could feel the truth from the bond. Tom had indeed done what he’d said.

Harry took a step back and stared at him. “But _why_?”

Tom caught hold of his hands again, the way Harry had held them when he was trying to explain how he felt about what Tom had done. “_Because I don’t want you to distrust me. Because I want to show you that I support the work of this foundation. Because I’ll donate this house to them if that’s what you want._” He hesitated, then added, “_Because giving up my ability to cast a spell is nothing compared to the sacrifices I’m prepared to make for you._”

Harry leaned against Tom, overwhelmed. His body shook with emotion to the point that he didn’t think Tom was surprised when he cleared his throat and said, “We shouldn’t do the ritual to call a snake to me tonight.”

“No, I agree.” Tom’s voice, in English, was gentle again. He smoothed his fingers down Harry’s cheek. “We’ll go home and come back tomorrow or this weekend. Whenever the Wizengamot and my Ministry duties leave us enough time.”

Harry nodded. Then he leaned harder against Tom, and sent a soft pulse of the warmth he really did feel down the bond. He loved Tom, as complicated as this was. He was bound. He wouldn’t be walking away any more than Hermione and Ron would have walked away from each other, or his parents.

_For better or worse._

*

Tom touched Harry’s cheek again, then his wrist, to watch the soul-mark shine and dance with living flame. _I am so much luckier than I ever deserved._


End file.
